“The air is so goddamn thick I could bite it…” George moaned as a hot mouthful from inside him clashed wall-to-wall with the static summer steam that seemed to be reeking from every god forsaken surface he could see. There wasn’t a tree breathing in sight to maybe sop up some of the heat a little bit. Just the hard-as-hell coal of broken concrete and asphalt. It was noon or twelve o’ clock or however you might want to label that sarcastic smile of the sun just reaching its peak, getting ready to cook you out of house and home for the next three or four hours. George was cooking out today, really, barbecuing, to be technical and accurate. The red numbers glowing satanically on top of two black poles outside of the bank told him it was 106 degrees outside.
“How convenient,” he thought. “Thanks for your help bank.”
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