Returning home at five, I’m a prisoner in a wheeled metal furnace. Air steams; my body melts. A fly hums drowsily, fogging my brain with dreams of cold water sizzling on my tongue.

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For Trifextra.  I put this in the present because it is something I am experience everyday.  The AC in my car doesn’t work.  I hate Summer.  I hope you got that.  Spring; now that is a season!