The heat is on, and it’s not just on the street. It’s absolutely everywhere. Every-fucking-where. Like, there is no escape. It reminds me of a heatwave that swept through Chicago when I visited one summer. It was the kind of sticky heat that soaked you in sweat within minutes of walking outside. It literally took me hours to make it halfway through the Magnificent Mile, as I ducked into every store along the way for the sanctuary of air conditioning. I went into places I never wanted to see – Nine West, Escada, every single bank (because banks are the coolest places in the summer). Foot by foot I padded along in the oppressive Chicago heat, seeking relief wherever it could be found. (Notably in an extended stay within Crate & Barrel, where I think they began to fear I had moved in.) I’ve been in some hot places over the years – the Philippines, San Juan, Miami, and an overheated Volvo on a cross-country jaunt in August – but I’ve never been quite as hot as those few days in a Chicago heatwave.
This week looks to be a hot one here. My ties only last about half the day. My thoughts wander to water, to lapping waves, to a sparkling pool. Everything sweats in this heat. Windows, glasses, grocery bags. We seek out respites of coolness, shadowy spots of relief, and when we find them we pause. Summer has a way of stilling things like that. It’s one of its best secrets.
