Chapter Nine
I wish my room were air conditioned. There’s an old swamp cooler in the coffeehouse, but it’s a weird kind of cool on a hot afternoon, and when I go home, I pray for a gust of dry, cool air. I shouldn’t mind—I’m used to f*****g sweaty. It has its own eroticism, but now it’s too damn hot for anything erotic in my stuffy room—so I think. If Blue-eyes shows, I’ll be back at him, humping him in silence and loving the hard driving climax that will finish us for the next few hours. We’ll lie with the fan on high, cooling down, then he’ll leave with me sweaty and a little feverish, praying for rain, thunderstorms, wind, anything to break the heat.
I greet my door a little wearily, wondering if it would be cooler on the shady fire-escape. I’ll take a glass of lemonade outside and s
