HEAT

Everything is moving with the speed of mud. The patio furniture at the café sits haphazard and abandoned, like an inappropriate joke. It's oppressing, this air that is two clicks short of hazardous, and any water splashed on the skin warms to it so fast it feels like sweat. Even the cars are sluggish pulling through the four-way stops. Breezes feel like exhaust and traversing black pavement is as unpleasant as walking through steam erupting from a manhole cover. It's unreal, the thickness lying in wait outside the door. Time ticks, the sun is merciless, and eventually the sky will rumble and burst from the pressure. Tepid drops will rain onto the sun-baked bricks and steal ten degrees with a sigh.