Despite the Heat, It'll be Alright

Dang. Let's get some mileage from the weather here in the shitty. It's after 5:00 in the afternoon and still 95 degrees outside. It feels like God is blowing some giant blowdryer at us with all the lemon leaves curled up, the dogs' tongues, the palm fronds lethargic yet valiant and the crows silent. At last. I do dislike a crow. We're digging our new little smoothie/bullet/what the hell do you call it machine, mixing up coffee and ice and milk for me, protein powder, berries and yogurt for The Brothers. Lovin Spoonful or Joe Cocker? I have a funky right eye that's crusted over in the morning and tender during the day. The eye doctor says it's allergies, not infection, and the dry air. Stripped and parched, even my eyes.

Back of my neck getting dirty and gritty.

Here's Joe:

There's really nothing to talk about but the heat

Holy shit, right?

It's hot

When you're squinting even in sunglasses and the temperature's in the triple digits, when the wind is blowing hot and dry and you're feeling angry for no reason, it's time for something to happen. In the south you'd lie down someplace cool or in the shade, sweat beading on your neck. Languor. Out here, in the desert, you bare your skin and feel flayed. You want to make trouble, kick up some dust, strip the steam out of steamy, expose yourself. Even the crows are silent, leaving you to murder.