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Subject: Re: Hot Stuff
From: "Bruce L. Jones" <[log in to unmask]>
Reply-To:[log in to unmask]
Date:Thu, 6 Aug 1998 09:00:07 -0700

text/plain (64 lines)

On Wed, 5 Aug 1998 10:12:19 +0100 John Birtwistle <[log in to unmask]>

>Today the sun is shining and the clouds have disappeared.  The
>is hovering around the 80 mark with a cool gentle sea breeze.
>Down on the front the Punch and Judy man is playing to packed houses,
>helter-skelter and swingboats are doing a roaring trade, the
>are full and the trampolines are bouncing.
>Children are frolicking in the water or building castles on the golden
>sands.  Pedalos are in demand.  The diving rafts are crowded.
>Just thought you might like to know.


I genuinely envy you your geography.

Today, the sun burns a relentless path across the face of the scorching
desert. There are never any clouds. This has something of the same effect
as someone without eyelids - never ending and relentless. The temperature
kissed 117 fahrenheit yesterday, a five ton air conditioning unit
straining to keep the interior of my house tolerable. It ran non-stop
until 3 a.m. this morning. I arose then to manually hit the thermostat to
get a head start on today, which will be more of the same.

No one is out and about on the streets save for a fat little boy sitting
under a sprinkler as he wets himself down in a continuous waterfall. I
consider stopping and joining him, but I just wave as I pass - boring in
on my target.

I passed a California Highway Patrol cruiser heading home yesterday, it's
big Chevy V-8 side lining it in a fog of boiling, steaming vapor. Knowing
he's the only guy on that stretch of road I ease the pedal down until the
speedo reads 95, the quicker to reach the house based AC.

When I arrive home, Buster the hound is languishing in a depression he
has made in the sand out back, the extra fine mist of a cool-mist system
enveloping him to try and keep him alive in the heat. He doesn't move as
he lifts one eyelid to acknowledge my presence at the window; doubtless
dreaming of the last snowfall. As I peel off sticky clothes and head for
the relief of a cool shower, I hear the soft fall of my dearly beloved as
her bare feet pad across the carpet, "How about some iced tea?" she
inquires. I take it and step under the water, glass still in hand as I
drink deeply, leaving the door wide. The heavily shaded but still bright
light of the piercing afternoon sun casts beams of delight through the
thin film of fabric covering her; outlining and accentuating her pale and
delicate skin. As I stand under the pounding cool water and my own
internal temperature starts to equalize I smile and looking at my
deliverer I caution, " ... careful ... some beastly thing might drag you
into the water and get that gauzy thing all soaked ... ". She smiles,
staring ...


Just thought you might like to know.   [:  )

Bruce L. Jones
The Mojave Desert - The Geographic Center of Nowhere

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