Heat

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.