Aug 21, 2019
5 min read
Summer of 2019
Summer is not over. Not yet. It’s August 20, and I’m wearing a short-sleeved, black and white, polka-dot shirt. It’s silk, or some facsimile thereof. I have no sweater, no scarf, no cape, no jacket. And my arms are warm. The window of the pub I sit in is open. The fan in the baffled ceiling in the next room turns steadily. The late afternoon light is bright. But, not as bright as it was just a week ago.
