Luna pulls over at a roadside stand in the Mojave twilight, where a man in a felt hat sells jars of light. He tells her he's been collecting it for years — from the headlights of passing cars, from the glow of the last motel sign on Route 66, from the final flash of a dying star. He offers her a jar for ten dollars. She buys one. But the light in the jar doesn't behave like any light she's ever known. It flickers in patterns she almost understands. It casts shadows that don't match the room. And when she looks into it too long, she sees a face she almost recognizes. A story about illumination, loneliness, and the things we carry home from the desert.

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