Getting bad on the porch, I look out of it this morning waiting for the shade to overcome the chairs and palms- eat up the Victorian trim as I sip some coffee. It is hot here in New Orleans and I find the shutters on all my windows closed. Come about two o clock the inside of the house begins to pressure cook. Humid, evaporating water, the kind you are wet even after drying yourself from a cold shower. Some people even just go to bed with a cold wet. Definitely not a tourist season now in this weather. You can hear the compressors bulging as the noon comes upon us. Almost like a quiet disaster movie flaming around us. Like old people flocking away to malls, we go off to bars and restaurants, not to eat or drink but just to pay rent on their air conditioning.
I just hate hearing people complain about the heat. We all know it is seathing, sweating, and purifying, that we feel like sweet fruits ripening and then rotting in the sun, but dammit do so many people have to actually think about it? As long as there is an ice maker in my house I am happy. There is the answer. But I confess the grand sport or game of porching is rather difficult, but delicious at night- when pagans rise to the blessing of a breeze that comes so sporadically
Looking up, all of us hoping the lantern on the porch will swing with a merciful breeze. But complain about it? Never!