THE NATION: It Was Certainly Hot

In Dallas, one blistering afternoon last week, a wilted and red-faced businessman walked into Little Brother Runnells' outdoor watermelon garden and sank down on a chair. He ordered a slice of cold watermelon and stared at it with a kind of torpid cunning. He made it last a long time. He built a juicy suspension bridge by excavating delicately at the center of the slice, then wrecked it slowly, sadly, and with infinite care. He counted the black seeds on his plate before he dragged himself back to the unthinkable horrors of his desk, his telephone and his electric...

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