It’s hot. Hot, hot, hot. Way too fucking hot. It’s past midnight andI’m sitting here, underwear soaked in sweat and sticking to the leather chair, even though the balcony door is open.
It’s too hot to think. Brexit? Too fucking hot, leave me alone.
Heat itself, though, does raise the question of heat, and therefore, of global warming. Which is real. I sit here and moan about how my apartment feels like a sauna, when the same rise in temperature which causes those of us in Prague to say “Damn, it sure is hot today” is enough of a rise to speed the melt of the glaciers in Greenland and Anarctica, it is enough to warm the oceans enough to increase the number of hurricanes (I’m not an expert, but I hear there is some correlation), it’s enough to tip a crowd over the edge and start a riot, it’s enough to cause crops to fail and people to starve.
So, what are we going to do about it? Well, more trees are always good.