The air in his home tasted the way alchemists’ studies look in old oil paintings: linseed oil, loam, the carbonated richness of something fermenting, motes of dust gone stale in the large dome, wood and rust on the tongue, as if Will was molding his surroundings until he manifested one day in the impasto of an old master, all carob paint and spotlights shining down from those clerestory windows.
Baller sentence. Top notch. Excellent work.
