The coffee burnt my lip because the milk is too hot. I can see the outside through a gap in the blinds and it is so bright.
Plants wilt and wither beneath the pulsing, nuclear heart of the sun and dirt dries and concrete cracks and the air draws the moisture out of everything until nothing remains but husks.
It is quiet and it is still.
There is only the blue sky and the sun. And us below.
The birds hide from the heat in the shadowy branches of unmoving trees. I sit inside, in air-conditioning, burning my lip on milk that’s too hot.
The coolness of the air is pleasing and even from where I am sitting, with the cool air rolling over me, I can see the outside through a gap in the blinds. It is so bright.
Michael Scott Hand 