It’s a blazing hot summer in the not-too-distant future. Down at the harbor, the sea reflected the sun in tiny, barbaric mirrors. In the parched suburbs, ice cream trucks plinked their baby tunes into streets that sweated tar. The sky pressed down like a furnace lid, shrinking the subsoil, cracking concrete, killing shrubs from the roots up.
Old folks collapsed, dogs were cooked alive in cars, lovers couldn’t keep their hands off each other. It was heat to die in, to go nuts or to spawn in. The temperature was merciless: ninety-eight, ninety-nine, then a hundred in the shade. That summer, the summer all the rules began to change, June seemed to last for a thousand years.
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