The weather in the Tri-State is warm today the same way that stinging is how your eyeball feels when you get it tattooed. Dead swampy air that makes you sweat if you sit still for more than four seconds. Hot air that feels even hotter when you're doing 80 on the highway. That kind of warm.
My car is nearly volcanic in this sort of weather, so I made off with Marian's RAV after a run to Hartford this morning. I dig that little machine. The top end is bullshit, but it carves the highway like nobody's biz. Raced an AMG E55 on the way home, the both of us weaving and bobbing in and out of 7:30 traffic. Couldn't get going REALLY fast, but there's a skill to the moving slalom of dense highway traffic that beats plain ol' speed to hell and back. Plus, the AMG guy slotted himself into a dead alley next to a Subaru and behind another Daimler and just got all kinds of stuck. A little sad, 'cause I was enjoying the race, but, hey, that kind of shit gets dangerous after a little while anyway.
Stop making that face, Buttons.
Yeah, and gave a package to a woman in Mahopac who had bright pink fingernails at least two inches long, perfect curved rectangles that arced out at me when she reached for my pen to sign the ticket. I swear to you that I could feel them slide into my chest and dimple the sides of my heart, could feel the tension in her hand, tight tendons about to pull her fingers into a fist, those bright pink arcs entering my atria and ventricles, could feel that first hard gush that popped my eyes open and then the cold drain as the pump stopped pumping.
Yah. Heat's getting to me.
And, yeah, yeah, ended up all over the island today, dropoff in Uniondale, dropoff in East Atlantic Beach, pickup in B'rklyn. And hot and stuck in traffic and covered with sweat and goo and bullshit. Loving the gig, right now. Making me think I'm a tough guy.
A tired tough guy. Out, for the nonce.
My car is nearly volcanic in this sort of weather, so I made off with Marian's RAV after a run to Hartford this morning. I dig that little machine. The top end is bullshit, but it carves the highway like nobody's biz. Raced an AMG E55 on the way home, the both of us weaving and bobbing in and out of 7:30 traffic. Couldn't get going REALLY fast, but there's a skill to the moving slalom of dense highway traffic that beats plain ol' speed to hell and back. Plus, the AMG guy slotted himself into a dead alley next to a Subaru and behind another Daimler and just got all kinds of stuck. A little sad, 'cause I was enjoying the race, but, hey, that kind of shit gets dangerous after a little while anyway.
Stop making that face, Buttons.
Yeah, and gave a package to a woman in Mahopac who had bright pink fingernails at least two inches long, perfect curved rectangles that arced out at me when she reached for my pen to sign the ticket. I swear to you that I could feel them slide into my chest and dimple the sides of my heart, could feel the tension in her hand, tight tendons about to pull her fingers into a fist, those bright pink arcs entering my atria and ventricles, could feel that first hard gush that popped my eyes open and then the cold drain as the pump stopped pumping.
Yah. Heat's getting to me.
And, yeah, yeah, ended up all over the island today, dropoff in Uniondale, dropoff in East Atlantic Beach, pickup in B'rklyn. And hot and stuck in traffic and covered with sweat and goo and bullshit. Loving the gig, right now. Making me think I'm a tough guy.
A tired tough guy. Out, for the nonce.
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