In Praise of August

Let's hear it for aquatic mules, butter cows, Smile Week and serenity

It's the sound, don't you think? The low whir that could be a breeze on a hedge, until you realize that there is no breeze and that you live in a high-rise. So it must be a generator someplace, or an old fan with rubber blades. The sound Definitely. Maybe it's the light: the way it slants like a guillotine on a dark wall, or fills the moon so that it glows meekly like a pale bruise on the night. Of course. The light. Or is it the heat? Could be the heat too; dead-quiet heat, seems to arise from inside...

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