I heard it's going to rain again.
I've drawn the blinds and the curtains, drenched my shirt in cold water and turned up the fan. I keep ice cubes in the fridge and I hide from the sun. The flat is dark, in the summer.
It's that type of season.
I change the batteries in my thermometer. I change the water for the cats. I step into the shower in the mornings, and the evenings, and at lunchtime too. My brain slows. My hair has not been dry in weeks. When I step outside, onto the concrete and into the bright sun sitting proudly in that cloudless sky, it is as though she has sat herself, fat and heavy, and oozing, atop my shoulders.
My head. My mouth. My thighs.
I take the weighted blanket off the bed. I take the cover off the blanket. The fan in the corner whirrs and whirrs.
Yesterday, we recorded another record high temperature. We do that every year, it seems.
42 degrees in Central Europe.
Do you remember, when thirty degrees was a lot? Do you remember going out to swim, for ice cream and a laugh, at twenty-five? How long has it been? A decade, maybe.
I heard it's going to rain again.
The grass is yellow, and brown in patches. There are holes in the leaves of my hibiscus, and my cat presses herself into the wet soil after I've watered the mint. Everything is thirsty nowadays, it seems.
The last storm brought lightning, thunder and wind. It did not rain.
I am not allowed to install an AC in my flat. It might ruin the cityscape, you see. Tourists can't be expected to put up with that. The ambulance sirens are coming closer together. The man who lives in front of the supermarket with his dog empties an entire bottle of water over its back. His skin is red, and reveals, in flakes, even more burnt flesh.
I have a sunburn on my shoulders from the five minutes I spent getting from the store to the heavy metal door that leads to the stairwell - it's never cool, see. It collects cigarette smoke and the scent of onions frying in oil. One side is all glass. There are no windows to open.
My alarm rings at 6am. It's going to heat up now, and I have to close my windows, and draw my blinds and my blackout curtains. The sun sits alone in her cloudless sky.
I heard it's going to rain again.
