AUSTIN HEAT

The window air conditioner in my studio apartment crapped out during a run of hundred-degree days in July. I’d been unemployed for months, and cash was non-existent to fix or replace the damned thing. Combing my hair raised a sweat, so I cycled between showers and lying in bed, naked, limiting movement, shades drawn to blunt the scalding sun. The evenings didn’t cool. One night, I tried to sleep on the floor in front of the open icebox. No luck. My sanity dangled by the thread of a small portable fan directed onto my face. Like a malignant disease, the heatwave hung on. Miserable days bled into steamy nights. I didn’t leave my flat. I competed with green mould for leftover scraps and ate canned goods months out-of-date. I dozed fitfully and understood why sleep depravation was torture. That’s how people were driven crazy.

My dreams became odd with a reoccurring