...it was apparently also very hot on the terrace, above. Well, July is July.
The air conditioner is roaring, the fan churning away. A dinner party in Manhattan has been canceled, as every Brooklyn guest bailed, too timid to face the temperatures on subway platforms.
Vincent went off to work in his suit and tie. He is my hero.
Chicken will be grilled on the braai in the dark. I'll eat some of the blueberry ice cream I made (blueberries, cream, sugar, blender, freezer. Scratch with a fork every hour or so to break crystals down a bit. It's good).
On the farm on the roof the watermelon seems to have grown another foot.