but it ain't no damn good if you're in the jungle
Forty-four degrees with the humidex rating, and I'm watching a drop of water run down the side of my beer glass, fleeing for somewhere colder where it can put off evaporation for a few extra seconds.
It's too damn hot. I'm trying to remember what 44 degrees works out to in Fahrenheit and all my brain will come up with are the words shooting spree, which sounds about right.
The weather is making people crazy. Bouts of listlessness are interspersed with the rapid fraying of tempers. Today I watched a man paint the same board 14 times while standing in the heat and humidity. I'm pretty sure he never knew he was painting the same board.
At these temperatures drinking is entirely counterproductive, as the alcohol strips precious water and salt away from organs that are already working to deal with conditions more suited to somewhere around the Amazon. Strangely, it's not stopping anyone. I'm looking into my glass again and for a second I watch a school of razor-toothed piranhas flick through the amber. I blink and the fish are gone.
Across the parking lot the heat rays shimmer and wave, creating perfect mirage conditions, and I watch the lost people shuffle across the lot like zombies, drawn nexorably to the oasis in the middle of the shimmering blacktop. But this oasis is marked by a large sign that says "Pub" and the only thing that vanishes when you get to it is the contents of your wallet.
It's too damn hot, and I watch a thousand petty arguments, a woman stride quicker ahead of her man to show her displeasure until she realizes it's making her even hotter, snide remarks float back and forth, opinions are exchanged until the heat makes people slump back into their seats, too drained to argue. I'm wondering weather my freezer is big enough to sleep in tonight.
My glass is empty and I watch another drop run down the side, and I lift my glass to my lips and catch the lonely drop on my tongue, let it roll down the parched valley of my throat. I close my eyes, and for a minute I can hear the sound of rain and I sit there with my eyes closed and wait for the skies to open and for the deluge to salve me of this heat.
And I'm sitting here, eyes still closed, waiting for the rain.
It's too damn hot. I'm trying to remember what 44 degrees works out to in Fahrenheit and all my brain will come up with are the words shooting spree, which sounds about right.
The weather is making people crazy. Bouts of listlessness are interspersed with the rapid fraying of tempers. Today I watched a man paint the same board 14 times while standing in the heat and humidity. I'm pretty sure he never knew he was painting the same board.
At these temperatures drinking is entirely counterproductive, as the alcohol strips precious water and salt away from organs that are already working to deal with conditions more suited to somewhere around the Amazon. Strangely, it's not stopping anyone. I'm looking into my glass again and for a second I watch a school of razor-toothed piranhas flick through the amber. I blink and the fish are gone.
Across the parking lot the heat rays shimmer and wave, creating perfect mirage conditions, and I watch the lost people shuffle across the lot like zombies, drawn nexorably to the oasis in the middle of the shimmering blacktop. But this oasis is marked by a large sign that says "Pub" and the only thing that vanishes when you get to it is the contents of your wallet.
It's too damn hot, and I watch a thousand petty arguments, a woman stride quicker ahead of her man to show her displeasure until she realizes it's making her even hotter, snide remarks float back and forth, opinions are exchanged until the heat makes people slump back into their seats, too drained to argue. I'm wondering weather my freezer is big enough to sleep in tonight.
My glass is empty and I watch another drop run down the side, and I lift my glass to my lips and catch the lonely drop on my tongue, let it roll down the parched valley of my throat. I close my eyes, and for a minute I can hear the sound of rain and I sit there with my eyes closed and wait for the skies to open and for the deluge to salve me of this heat.
And I'm sitting here, eyes still closed, waiting for the rain.