Get the Four Horsemen here already so we can get this over with.

It's so hot you could fry an egg on my ass. Even the crackheads are quiet. They are melting on their pavement beds. My hands got hot just thinking about moving a pen in my notebook.

I spent all winter despising the cold. "I can't wait until it's hot," I'd say. June came and then July and I basked in the 80-degree weather. I'd go for runs in the heat of the day to soak up as much post-office sun as possible.

Then, out of nowhere, the air stopped moving. Each day is hotter than the piss fire-hot day that preceded it. Saturday's hike turned into a reenactment of Dante's Inferno. Where all winter I crouched in front of my suckass heater I now hug my fan that runs 24 hours a day. My apartment does not cool at night. Each night is a little more dreadful as the heat of the day compounds the heat of the day before, and the day before that. Last night I woke up sweating and violently ripped the flannel fitted sheet from my mattress and replaced it with a cotton sheet. Tonight maybe this crackerbox hellhole will spontaneously combust. That makes these my last words.

Fuck this. Everybody stop driving and vote Democrat and buy locally-grown goods so my neck will stop sweating. Oh and stop covering shit with concrete. Pavement is forever and damn does it radiate heat. Thanks.