I Am Living in a Dali Painting

Suffice it to say, the recent heat wave that has hit New England reminds me of those halcyon DC summers, when it gets so hot that people simply start melting: They melt into air conditioned offices, air conditioned cars, theatres, restaurants, even the metro, whose mostly underground stations offer shelter from the relentless sun and suffocating humidity.



When it gets this hot, your personal thermostat loses its frame of reference. It's so hot outside, it's like we're in Indonesia. I keep on waiting for Sukarno to come walking down the street, clad in flip-flops with a towel around his head.

In weather like this I particularly enjoy when people ask by way of making conversation, "hot enough for you?"

To which I respond: "Hot? I didn't notice that it is hot." They look at me like I wouldn't notice if my hair were on fire.

I mean, it's so hot the clocks are melting off the wall. I feel like I'm living in a Dali painting.