it is hot. it is sticky august hot. pasty little doughy tourists from canada and other gentler climes are passing out on my tours. the rest of obese america can be seen oozing down the steamy sidewalks of the french quarter, carrying big gulps and huge ass beers. their money aside, my tolerance for them goes down as the temperature goes up. they melt and stick to everything, sizzling like bacon in the sun.
the other day i was in the cemetery where it is at least 30 degrees hotter than the rest of the city and i swear, i think the soles of my shoes were melting. i could feel myself puddling up and i slipped into daydreams of beautiful bags of water dripping into my veins from an i.v. then the head ache set in and i rushed to finish the tour.
today, against what would have been the best medical advice had i actually sought medical advice, i ventured into the jungle of banana trees threatening to take over my side hall porch. i was armed with a machete. they were armed with root systems that plunge downward until they hit bedrock, which in new orleans is a feat in and of itself. i sweated. i hacked. i drank water. i slashed. banana trees fell. i grew dizzy. i drank water. a little before noon, i called for reinforcements via the axe and shovel. the banana trees solicited the aid of the sun which moved into an overhead position, getting me squarely in its sights. i fought gallantly but the banana trees won. now i am sitting in front of the fan, blood red, feeling every beat of my heart and thinking there is no hangover like the one the sun and heat can give you. my eyes are glowing and i no longer think it is possible to drink enough water to hydrate myself. i must recover soon, i have a tour tonight.
i am praying for rain. sweet rain, like a cool compress on feverish skin. rain and air conditioning and maybe an ice cold beer if i can ever get hydrated. see you in the inferno.
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