June 2--Andre Kertesz, Poughkeepsie, New York 1937. It was too hot to stay inside. Gayle pushed up the window and tugged the screen out. She leaned out to put a rag rug out on the fire escape and then climbed out to sit there hoping for a breeze to cool her off. She thought about sleeping out there but just then a train came through, stopped for a minute, and then headed off again. That went on every twenty minutes around the clock. There was no way she'd be able to sleep through that. The Carlsons one floor up slept out on the escape all summer long. Lars put a frame up with an awning to keep the rain off and dragged a mattress out each night. She she wouldn't be along out there but she couldn't stop thinking of rolling over and right off the grating, of big diesel trains spewing dirt and grit as they rolled by, and what about rats and bats? No, she'd rather be hot and safe than cooler and fall to her death or get rabies from a bat bite. But, God, it was hot.
And that completes today's word and whining. Stop in again tomorrow for more middle-aged, middle-class angst. Happy Friday.
--Barbara
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