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9.05.2002 | link |

 

there’s a thin layer of sticky dust covering los angeles today.

i swerve my car around every corner as if i could out-speed the sweltering heat. but dust particles take flight and fuse themselves onto my already grimy windshield. my windshield wipers are chapped like lips. and when i step grudgingly outside, the heat sits its heavy haunches on my chest and presses its fat, sweaty palms upon my face.

the haze has given me a incessant squint. i see dust floating in the air and feel dust baking in my pores and breathe dust caking in my lungs. everything and everyone, like water-deprived foliage, looks bent-over and limp. my own small movements feel monumental. and my mind—depleted from soothing agitated nerves—wants to spend the day in a kiddy pool sipping strawberry margaritas.

three nights ago, i woke up at 3:00 am. spent 20 minutes fanning myself with the doorway of the refrigerator. then used an ice pack for a pillow. it didn’t really help. but my ears felt great.


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