The heat wave finally broke today. The rain came shortly before dawn and kept coming for hours, until the alleyway behind my apartment was completely submerged. By the time the rain stopped the temperature had fallen sixteen degrees, which was exactly enough.
Late last night, when the air was still thick and hot, James and I escaped to the park and talked. Among other things, he told me that he had asked his brother, an ordained priest, to pray for rain. A coincidence, surely? Whatever the source of the intervention, I am delighting in the sensation of not-sweating.
In other news, I miss Arit. She is reading from France—did you get my last email?—but I am aching to tell her the things I don’t write about here. Soon, she will come home and we will drink iced tea and talk ourselves dry and she will show me all the clothes she bought in Paris. Arit always buys clothes in Paris. Someday, I will too.
Speaking of clothes, I have made a vow to myself: I will wear fishnet stockings at least once before the summer has ended. You’ll hold me to that, won’t you?