for drifterdream
It's a scene he recognizes. The unbalanced fury of the heavens, brought down onto the land with nothing but boiled malice and contempt. A rupture in the clouds opening up the chasm of a natural disaster: heat, pouring out, enveloping every brick in every wall, saturating every man's peripheral until one sucked inhalation draws sweat to the brow. It isn't safe; skin blisters and rouges in bright red patches if exposed too long, normal activities are exhaustive, grueling experiences that leave a person drained and dehydrated, and the mind slows to a sluggish crawl. Even the simplest of tasks are physical feats, mental aerobics.
And June, he fits right at home among it.
The streets are lit bright with the low-hanging bulb of the sun, even this close to sunset; there is no one to be seen on the deserted streets. Black asphalt gleams like melted oil, cars glimmer and sparkle bright metal silver, buildings sweat and windows perspire. The grinding drawl of air conditioners and generators purr around each corner.
It isn't until night settles, the humidity a devastating high even as the moon takes its precarious, weak spot in the sky and brings no relief to the world's suffering creatures. Something has gone wrong in the natural balance of the earth and its seasons, its weather tipped off-scale, but he doesn't care. He's out, his mind stuck in overheat, his skin warm and comfortable, familiar in this climate.