Outside, it is hot. The pools have dropped entrance fees. The park is a surreal other-world. I’ve never seen it so empty. I’ve gotten so used to seeing these dogs and people there, and with it all gone, I see their little ghosts. At 5 am, when I go for a run, there are a lot more people out there.
The coffee shops and ice cream parlor are overflowing with people. Strangers are sitting together at tables. One good thing about the heat: it’s forcing us to talk to one another. What new couples today will say fifty years from now, “We got together because of the heat wave”? They find eachother in the Lickety Split, she is sitting at a table, enjoyng a sundae. He is exiting with a cone, and wants to sit under the fan for a second. There is an empty chair at her table, the only one left. He asks if he can sit, she cracks a joke. They chat about the heat and eye eachother shyly. They exchange numbers, and wait a day before calling, just because it is too hot for a truly good date, and they both want a good one. Who cares who called who, they can’t recall fifty years later. They just know that their union is glued togehter by sweat and pain and lust that only heat waves ever produce.
One bad thing, I still need to do yard work. The haze is infiltrating my brain, and I don’t know how to chase it out other than water and a Popsicle.