Sweat trickling down the crack of my ass and the clingy, wet, dress shirt reminded me of how I really hate the desert, and why I needed some shade and a cold drink real bad. The sun was out in full force today. A few hawks were soaring above in the deep blue sky, circling, waiting. The crumbling asphalt road, under the desert sky, fused into a gooey liquid under my feet. Needless to say, this was the last place I figured I would end up.
I had been waiting out here for some time now. Longer than you or I would willingly dream of it. Of course, this was the longest day of the year, and it so happens to be the hottest. I would swallow the rivulets of black tar oozing from the road if it would provide refreshment, but I couldn’t, so I didn’t. I did, however, spot a weathered plastic bottle by the side of the road filled with some yellowish clear liquid, but I wasn’t "that" thirsty, yet. The hot brine raining down from my brow made my eyes sting like fiery knives piercing without warning. Every time I’d wipe it on my sleeve, another snake trail of sweat would bite me again. "Man, I need a drink!", I muttered.
I was tired of waiting, so I sat down by the side of the road, and waited some more. A fire ant scurried by. I tried to kill the ant, knowing that the sting of a fire ant would only make things worse. Although it was all so relatively pointless, I killed it anyway. A small victory. So it was just me, the sun, the road and the dead ant. The ant got off the hook easy. The sun still shone and the wind started to pick up the dust and roadside debris.
Now, ordinarily, the wind is associated with cool breezes, a temporary refuge from the pouring sun. In more technologically advanced cultures, the wind is harnessed to generate electricity, which in turn, powers refreshing air conditioners, like the one in my former boss's office as he casually banged his secretary on his desk, who happened to be my former wife. In this case, however, the hot jet blast of the desert wind only made things more unbearable. Without a car or a building in sight and only scrub brush and Joshua trees dotting the landscape, I kicked some dirt around and heard faint, slow music. I felt something in my pocket.
I pulled a piece of folded and stained paper from my back pocket and began to read aloud the contents.
“My tongue itches and a fire burns in every tooth. Torture is my love and I carry it to bed, a maiden struggling with no arms or legs, a pink worm with clocks on her nipples, breasts ticking metallically. Her voice says, 'You fool are the one who squirms, I am merely crippled.' And so, holding the instruments of pain, I conduct the orchestra of the sun. And daylight flutters into existence…”
Words.
I carefully folded the piece of paper and returned it to my pocket.
“I should have ordered the pie and coffee”...
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