Everyone’s talking about the heat. How can we not? It’s 95 degrees out and feels like 102.
Last night I drove home to Midtown from Cordova with my windows down. It was midnight and it felt like I was sitting in bathwater. Even the breeze was hot, like breath.
Right now I’m sitting here trying to psych myself up so I can leave the apartment and walk to my car. My car is black. It’s the temperature of the lobby of Hell in there, you know.
Sometimes I think I’d like to bike to work; I only live a few miles from the office. And then I remember that I’d need to arrive an hour early so I could shower and get ready for work … at work … during these dog days.
Not doin’ it.
This is why all those “ride the bus to work, ride your bike to work, walk to work” schemes always fail. Who wants to show up dripping wet and stinky?