a.k.a. V.J.

Today belonged to the heat. Once the temperature reached the mid-nineties, it preoccupied my northern brain, so thoroughly inured to cold and snow and wind, but unready for this. At a certain point, the heat becomes The Heat.

It was one of those days where walking out of an air-conditioned building onto the sidewalk slowed one down a step. (I would describe the resulting feeling as “languid” if I didn’t fear that dropping such a five-dollar word would out me as a pompous ass.)

Coworkers compared the weather to being in Florida and wondered aloud if it was too hot to hit the golf course after work. Outside, in the city streets, exhaust fumes, road construction, and other urban smells were more obnoxious than usual, being amplified in the humidity.

Driving home through the green hinterlands offered little relief. My car’s air conditioner labored to keep pace with the outside conditions. The Heat did offer a good excuse to stop halfway to grab an ice cream sandwich, so that was a silver lining.

When I got home, the first floor of the house was stuffy and the upstairs was positively uninhabitable, which is the way with Cape Cods in the summer. But, soon after, the skies darkened with the promise of thunderstorms; and The Heat, having decided that it had enough fun at our expense for one day, stood down.