"The sky," K says immediately, because he has a list of things that he could love, that would enamor him of this place and this city without exception if he could only choose how he engages with it.

It's simple, but he means it: "I'd never seen it before I came here. Or, well. Sometimes outside the biome of Los Angeles I'd catch glimpses but it was always soupy and dull, like muddy water. Or the sun was too bright and hot and would burn anything it touched. But there are clouds here, and stars, and the sun is... nice. And there's wind that doesn't make you want to hold your breath."

He speaks with quiet reverence, means every word of it and more that he's not saying.