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  • Hot town, summer in the city, the back of my neck is getting dirty and gritty, and I am pretty sure that I smell.

    I know I smell.

    This weekend in Washington, walkers must weave to avoid eggs sunny side up, sizzling on sidewalks, but I haven't been able to figure out how to quit walking. Not completely.

    The sunsets have been a hot, sticky, humidly orange and very pretty. The air quality has been orange, too, which isn't as pretty and somewhat dangerous for sensitive groups. I am in one. Or two. And on top of that, the heat advisories mean the mass of frayed wires that is my central nervous system has been sparking and shorting.

    Dew points are soaring, and I know that I have no idea what that means outside of the fact that it feels like there's more moisture in the air than in the Potomac, and it has combined with a film of sunscreen and sweat to cling to my skin like a wet suit.

    Overnight the temperature drops to somewhere near 80 in the Fahrenheit furnace (or 27 steamy degrees in Celsius). During the day, it goes up. And up. And up.

    At a half past seven in the evening, it's hotter than it was at a half past six, which was hotter than a half past five, which was hotter and so on and so forth and so I have been getting up in the mornings to walk because it's hot in DC this weekend.

    It is steamy and sweltering, blistering, boiling, and brutal. It is also home. It is the place that I live and the place that I love and the place that I work, and I feel better when I walk. In a few months, we will all be shuffling, shoveling, layering, and cold, and so I am enjoying the moment, the mercury rising, and sight of all of those eggs sunny side up.

    Bloom where you're planted, Mom said, so I did. I just feel a bit wilted on the hottest of hot July days.
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