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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
Content-Type:text/plain
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text/plain (64 lines)


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

>Today the sun is shining and the clouds have disappeared.  The
temperature
>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,
the
>helter-skelter and swingboats are doing a roaring trade, the
donkey-rides
>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.

John,

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 ...

<sigh>

Just thought you might like to know.   [:  )

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

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