In the Caribbean, night falls on you like someone flipped a switch. The sun doesn’t crawl down the sky to hide behind the ocean—it drops like a piece of radioactive fruit an angry kid hit with a stick. In Texas and New Mexico, that’s not the case. In the American Southwest, the sun comes down politely, like it’s letting you know it’s about to get dark. It plants bruised kisses in the sky and often spills orange, pink, red, and purple watercolors on the clouds.
