Carrying the Fire

I just finished The Road by Cormac McCarthy, on the advice of a friend. It’s amazing how it makes you inhabit that gray world, secretly inspecting  piles of trash for scraps. I always feel like messages are to be found in these recommended readings, so I kept waiting for something, mirrored by the instances in the story when the man thinks that a dream may be an omen or warning. After the first night I dreamt of entrails. The next night, dozing off, a small, backlit fly circled between the book and the light, and I found myself rereading the line:

The last instance of a thing takes the class with it.

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