Not the scent of the smoke, but the sight of it, not the sight itself, but the screen through which it altered the sunlight—she couldn’t articulate the change exactly, it’s just that the light seemed odd, like the acidic light of a nightmare. 

The world outside my apartment is technicolor against my starved eyes—but it is flat, odorless, like a movie.

The world outside my apartment is technicolor against my starved eyes—but it is flat, odorless, like a movie.