It’s hot. Really hot. And humid. Really humid. Which means that it’s really hot and really humid. At the same time. Wow. I think I’m melting. No joke. I really think I might be melting. At least, that’s what I felt like last night. Couldn’t sleep. It’s kind of hard when sweat is puddling on your forehead. And your pillow is wet. As though your face was melting off and dripping away. Everyone in the room is in their underwear, melting. Together. We’re all in our underwear, and no one cares. After all, we’re melting. 45 degrees Celsius during the day. That’s solidly into the triple digits of Fahrenheit. And the night isn’t much better. Especially when there’s no air movement in the room. It’s actually better outside. That must be why everyone stays out so late. Too late. But at least it’s not so hot outside then. That must be why everyone goes to the beach. The searing desert of sand is hot. Too hot. But the water is delightful. Quite lovely. And everyone is there. Everyone. The sands are full. (I’m not sure why they’re on the sand) The water likewise. Full of bobbing heads and splashing bodies. At least there you aren’t hot. Your body resolidifies. That must be why everyone spends all day at the beach. If they can. If not, then they melt. Just like last night. Oy vey. I think tonight might be better. Maybe not quite so hot. Hopefully my body will all be here in the morning. I don’t like the melting process.