“Something something something.”
A dark-complected man at the corner of Scottsdale and Indian School made an utterance more or less to me; I smiled tensely, assuming he was a street person asking for spare change. He took a step toward me, and I prepared myself to say, “Sorry, no.” Or maybe I would give him a buck? Probably not; probably just some half-hearted rejection, a lie about not having any money (not that I had much, but I did have some). I tried to look at him but not directly; I’m not sure why, but I think that’s the proper social form. Of course, I could be wildly wrong; I often am.
“It’s too hot,” he said. Surprised, I looked toward him, and noticed he had a rough beard and was wearing a short-sleeve, button-down polyester shirt. “It never cools down,” he said, somewhere between a matter-of-fact statement and a complaint. “It just stays hot all the time!” I’m not sure if the exclamation point is correct, here. It usually implies a leap in volume, which really wasn’t the case. It was more of a sharply deepening emotion that I’m trying to relay. Or, maybe better put, portray. Continue reading