Cool within

Here’s comes the wind again… the Santa Anas. It is hot. Even by the beach. Especially by the beach, as there’s little air-conditioning in our coastal dwelling and local spots. The fan is on full. We might decamp from the living room to the local library – if it has air-conditioning. The closed door has become a invitation to coolness within. That’s how you can tell. The local spot with the open door – well, that open door means the place does not have air-conditioning. Those beads of sweat sapping out through your clothes are only going to get worse. So we reach out to grab hot door handles and embrace the cold inside.
Just yesterday I could feel the drizzle of a cool, autumn day in St. Louis but last night it was back to L.A. A wave of hot air, a mass of people and noise and traffic and sweat at the airport. A mumbling bus-driver and protesting passengers enroute to find cars in badly-lit Lot C. How hot had it been while we were away? Let me count the number of sleeveless garments on the customers at the gas station. Shorts and loose tank top and still sweating as you pump gas? No, dude you do not look cool. People are jogging on the parkway at 9.30 at night, because it’s cooler now at 80 degrees. Don’t do it – the path is holding onto the heat, pushing up through your trainers.
Sleep comes despite the noise of the fan on all night and the sirens in the distance. I am woken again by sirens, all morning – emergencies of sorts. Who knows what’s happening? No one big event, just more tempers exploding in the heat.