FIRES AND FLOODS |
The night is hot as hell. Really. The heatwave is so bad that street signs are melting like ice cream and scorpions are taking dips in the local pool, desperate for a little relief. Last Tuesday, I baked a cookie on the hood of my truck, watched the chocolate chunks bubble under the sun. I can’t touch the steering wheel without the risk of second-degree burns, and the winds are so strong that I’ve lost two sunhats and the whole state smells of smoke. News of the fires and floods keeps pouring in: down south, a city lies half-submerged in water, and, here, dozens of houses burn. Too hot for even shorts, we strip off our dresses and collapse on the grass by the lake. When you turn onto your stomach, I want to touch the sweat pooling in the valley of your spine. I want to rub our bodies together, make a house of flames before this whole place goes up in smoke. Fire, in my experience, is a stronger force than water, and we’re all branches waiting to be burned. |