It's Not the Heat

It's the tongues of flames lapping at your feet. Northfield made like Shadrach today and journeyed into the furnace. At the zenith nadir most hellish moment, at around 3:30 this afternoon, the heat index was 116. The fricking-fracking dewpoint was over eighty.

That's not right. Nor was it right that I avoided taking a shower. There just wasn't time until 10 p.m., and then why bother?

It's even more wrong that tomorrow is supposed to be hotter.

email: christopher at tassava dot com