It’s hot. I don’t need to tell you that, but I will anyways. It’s been hot. It’s Fall. It’s the end of September, and it’s 100 degrees. It’s hot. That’s my excuse for everything. It’s why we have been living off of salads. It’s an excuse to make boozy floats. It’s a reason not to do laundry, or dishes, or work out. Fans are blazing. Everything is dry. My eyes are burning. My lips are chapped. Drink water. Drink beer. Order sushi delivery. Why? Because it’s too hot to do anything. It’s why I haven’t been writing. It’s too hot to write…





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