Heat

5 Aug

I remember reading a short story as a child about heat. I can’t remember the title or who wrote it but it was about a hot summer night and a man visiting another man in the workshop.
I’m in a similar situation now, all except a man visiting me in a workshop. However wherever my computer is plugged in and I’m writing is my workshop. So there is an analogy there. No one is visiting me though…
It is hot. The air conditioner has packed up and it is 28 degrees Celsius (82 degrees Fahrenheit) in the apartment where I am currently residing. It is slightly cooler outside. But not much cooler.
It is late at night, the promised internet connection does not work. I am a bundle of sweat and the only thing keeping me going is the cheap cold white wine that I have beside me.
That’s actually not true.
What’s keeping me going is that I am sane – not the wine – that is just lubrication for the soul.
What I remember about the short story was that it was so hot that the protagonists were on the edge of their sanity – and it was not clear what the result of their meeting was. A fight? A murder? Nothing? Perhaps they shared some cheap cold white wine? And had a sing song?

Now that would be insane.

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