Brother from another mother

Heat Wave. [Part-1]

It was hot.

Really hot.

No, hot was an understatement. It was hotter than hot; worse than hot.

It was blazing, blistering, boiling, burning, flaming, scalding, scorching, searing, sizzling, sweltering.

Mike Ross stopped himself from continuing. It was just too damn hot to think. He closed his mental thesaurus (though he did feel a small twinge of pride for listing the synonyms alphabetically) and focused on what he was doing.

But his mind kept drifting. Much like his bike was.

An angry car horn blared and Mike blinked, snapping to attention in time to right his course and veer back towards the side of the curb just as a car sputtered past, the driver yelling incoherent curses at Mike.

Mike was too preoccupied with the heat wave that came trailing in the wake of the car to pay much attention to the driver. The wave slammed into his back and rolled over him, suffocating him in pure heat mixed with the choking smell of gasoline and smoke that clung to his body; no cooling breeze present to brush it away.

Hot

Coughing, he tried to wave the smog away but that mere action alone left him wheezing worse than he had when the car had passed. His bike wavered and he quickly grabbed the handle again to steady it.

It was hot.

Really hot.

No, hot was an understatement. It was –

Wait, he had already had this thought. But it was all he could think about.

Hot

To distract himself from the thought replying in his head and to help him focus, Mike lifted his head and blinked blearily into the sun.

A heat wave had crashed into New York and the city was drenched in it. The moment the sun touched the cloudless sky, the land burned.

Heat radiated from the sidewalk and passing cars. The air was heavy with the smell of sweat. Not even a whisper of a cool breeze or a drop in the temperature could be found. Standing still was almost as bad as moving. But at least as long as Mike kept pedaling into the hot wind, he could dry the sweat trickling down his brow, matting his hair to his forehead.

Hot

The streets were chocked with taxis, people determining it was worth the loss of the frugal dollar if only to sit in an air conditioned car rather than walk through the tangible heat. The few who braved walking in the blaze stayed close to the sides of the buildings and shops, seeking what little shelter of shade could be found under the awnings; pausing in front of shops that mercifully open automatic doors to let out tendrils of the cool air being pumped from air conditioners. The moment of bliss was short as the person was either forced to walk on, or the door closed, cutting off the sweet relief.

Hot

Diners with patios for outside dining were empty, the doors shut tight to prevent even a trickle of cool air from escaping. The empty tables simmered despite the open umbrellas that guarded them from the wrath of the sun's rays.

Hot

Mike's head dropped in defeat and his eyes returned to watching his pedaling feet. It took too much energy to keep his head up. And the weather was rapidly draining him of any energy he had left.

What a day to forget his water. Yes, his mind was fantastic with remembering anything that was written down. But when it came to remembering to bring something, like a cell phone, or a water bottle, Mike's mind overlooked it. Besides, he was running late. No time to stop and get a drink.