I walk out of my office and I take off my shirt. It’s hot. It is ridiculously hot. It is so hot that you imagine that it could not possibly be any hotter on any other place on this planet. It is so hot that you can’t even get out the door before you are sweating. So I take off my shirt. Every day. Sometimes I just unbutton it, but then I look like I’m trying to be Rico Suave so usually I just take it off and walk the mile to my car with my briefcase in one hand and my shirt in the other. It is a big parking lot. It is hot. Somewhere someone thinks it would be hysterically funny if there was another red Isuzu Rodeo with the windows tinted completely black and a roof rack parked one aisle over from mine. So I stand there hitting the alarm button because for some reason it has become almost sacrilegious to actually put the key in the door even though I’m standing right there. And nothing happens. I sorta hear the little boo-bleep of the alarm, but it sounds distant … almost like it’s coming from the other … HEY! Okay. So I am a dumbass standing there with my shirt off baking into the asphalt staring at someone else’s car. So I get into my car and roll down the windows and it’s still 142 in there so I gotta start rolling. Gotta move. So I’m rolling through the parking lot and I’m listening to this CD that I made that is killing me a lot more than the heat is. But I love it. I love the heat and I love the music and I love driving and I love that my arm is getting burned from the sun. Now I’m cruising. I’m stopped. Red light. Red Hot Chili Peppers. Scar Tissue. Loud. Singing. “… young Kentucky girl in a push-up bra …” I feel it. Someone’s watching me. Right? No. Old lady. Probably thinks I’m a freak in her big-ass Caddy. Left? No. Mom. 40. Smoking. Going to soccer. oh no no no! Wrong! Back Seat. Little kid. Four? Maybe five? I’m still singing. Loud. Top of my lungs. Hurts to be this loud. “… southern girl with a scarlet drawl …” I cannot not smile. This kid is jamming. He’s like totally watching me. He’s bouncing in his seatbelt. Rocking back and forth. Mom probably has Barney on the CD player. She’s doing her damn checkbook or something. This guy is so funny! He’s waving a Mickey Mouse dollar in the air while I’m pumping my fist out the window ” … step outside but not to brawl …” I am hoping he is enjoying this. He is laughing. He is trying to sing, too. He’s moving his mouth as if he was singing whatever I am singing. The light changes. Mom looks up. He’s yelling at her, “Look! Look at the man!” And she is looking straight ahead. And he waves goodbye, smiling. I hope he thinks it’s okay to be crazy. My light changes and someone honks at me because my eyes are closed and I’m screaming ” … with the birds I’ll share … this lonely view …”