THE FIERINESS

Second day of a heat wave (there is no global warming) with temperatures in large parts of California (there is no global warming) well past one hundred degrees Fahrenheit. And there are wildfires raging out of control (there is no global warming). With thousands of people evacuated (there is no global warming), and blistering temperatures. On the other side of the country, off the coast, a force five hurricane is barreling in. There is no global warming. Over in Europe, the natives are smearing on suntan lotion and stripping down, as they are wont to do for ninety days each summer. Same in Northern India along the banks of the Ganges.

There is no global warming.
We're just burning up.
It's natural.


Cairo, Hong Kong, and Oakland are at the same temperatures.

Outside the building it's low seventies, mild breeze, and no sign of the wildfires raging to the East of here. Shirtsleeve weather. It's balmy. Temperate even.

Damned naked tourists from The Valley, wandering around enjoying our coolness, and I can't even wear my overcoat it's so warm, I keep pipes and tobacco in the right hand pocket. Which are essential for my comfort. And there is no global warming.

Donald Trump, Marjorie Taylor Greene, and the governor of Texas all say so.
And they're smart people. They wouldn't be what they are otherwise.
Book learning, common sense, and smarts combined.



No matter. In a short while I shall be heading out to do some shopping, have a late lunch, and smoke a pipe. In my shirtsleeves. The heat isn't that bad that I fear dehydrating, and though my right leg will feel like it's being run over by a tank while Russian troops are screaming and wipping it savagely, I shall be in a cheery springlike mood. Yes.

The right leg is a mean bitch when it's warm outside.
From knee to ankle was a temper-tantrum.
Trying to fall asleep was unreal.
No global warming.


Cheery. Springlike. Mood.


Tomorrow is the Fourth. All over the city people will be ceremonially incinerating a hotdog, because the singed meat smell will remind them of Independence Days of the past, and celebrating the greatness of our country and our glorious leaders.

Then we will all watch the fireworks, bursting in the fog.
Giant pastel-hued poofballs, scarcely visible.
It's always foggy on the fourth.
It has to be.



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