95.7

The heat wave lingers. It rolled its fat, slow front like a tongue across the city and stayed there, pushing beads of sweat from every inch of your skin. The AC in your closet rests as you test your endurance. Everything slows, every movement, the thick blood in your veins, everything except the fingers that run across your keyboard, mad with visions they're terrified to forget before committing them to paper. A sunburn itches at the small of my back, but it's no metaphor.

I'm doing the things I said I would do.

It keeps feeling like home.