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.
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!