Heat-inspired grumbling
I can't believe how freakin' hot it is.
I know, I know...it's summer. Summers are hot. I get it, really. These hundred degree days just feel so much more intense now that I don't have air conditioning at home or at work. No one goes out and about in downtown Los Gatos, not when it's this warm. It's so quiet at the store that I feel like I'm bouncing off the walls.
When folks do come in, they're only looking to beat the heat, not to buy. They come in, grab a pile of books to browse in one of our chairs, and then leave, neither bothering to put the books back nor to throw away the dregs of their iced beverages. It isn't difficult to throw trash away, is it? Yet somehow these bored souls never manage it.
I know, I know...it's summer. Summers are hot. I get it, really. These hundred degree days just feel so much more intense now that I don't have air conditioning at home or at work. No one goes out and about in downtown Los Gatos, not when it's this warm. It's so quiet at the store that I feel like I'm bouncing off the walls.
When folks do come in, they're only looking to beat the heat, not to buy. They come in, grab a pile of books to browse in one of our chairs, and then leave, neither bothering to put the books back nor to throw away the dregs of their iced beverages. It isn't difficult to throw trash away, is it? Yet somehow these bored souls never manage it.