It's Hot, Damn Hot

Despite not being one who sweats much, I was more than damp by the time I reached my office before 9 am. Now, in the "coolness" of the night, excuse me if I just stand here, letting my body melt onto the steps outside my house, the redness of my sinews blending with the bricks upon which my syrupy insides accumulate. It's cold somewhere, and that thought provides me with a scintilla of comfort, the very idea that maybe I could escape this oppressiveness -- the heat index was well into the 100s today, and is supposed to stay that way for the next couple of days. That maybe it's hotter elsewhere is no consolation. Can you see my ankle bones sticking out of the drying heap, above the blue checked short-sleeved shirt that's become glued to the sidewalk? The plants need water, though it's probably too late for most of their dried-out husks, overheated and undernourished. Maybe when it cools down to 80 or so, Kathy will come outside and sweep up my remains -- I understand urns are a popular place to put them, and it seems more dignified than having a dog piss onto my crystallized grains and send them into the gutter and down the drain that's two houses down.