It is burning skin against leather seats
It is thighs and undersides drenched in sweat
It is heat waves rising above the street.
I’ll leave my pizza in the garage on top of the car, better than an oven.
I can’t remember what it’s like to feel a chill, see my breath, stomp through snow.
Perhaps I’ll be saying the same about summer in the dead of February, but this is the hottest hot.