Under the shade of the leland cypress, I spotted a skinny adolescent kitten with beautiful dark calico markings. When I came back again, a woman on a bike was holding the little cat with no resistance from her. She rode off carrying the kitten in one hand while steering the bike with the other.
Someone had painted a neon pink robot on the cement path. The temperature is climbing to 100 degrees and cooking. Everyone's T-shirt is soaking wet. After a while it feels like soggy air conditioning.
In a little village near Dungapor, Doris and Tom and I would dip our pajamas in water and put them on wet to lie down on the charpoys we had dragged outside. In the dark, with the bright stars overhead, a breeze with sand and tiny rocks would cool us as we slept.
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