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Shirt soaked, brain scrambled 0

Dear Bradshaw,

It has been hotter than Satan’s armpit and hellaciously humid. Shade makes no difference, or nighttime. Rome is on fire. The city is a sauna. One day last week the temperature reached 100 degrees, which stings anywhere at any time but especially when you’re walking around with long pants and a dress shirt, as I always am. I’ve been arriving to my lessons bathed with sweat, my shirt soaked, brain scrambled.

The elevator is a sweatbox. The bus is a torture chamber. Never mind locomotion, standing still is enough. Just breathing starts the drops trickling between my shoulder blades, racing down my spine, running the length of my legs. Waiting until the sun goes down is futile. Nighttime is no relief. Sure, the temperature cools a few degrees but the humidity increases, which is a lose/lose situation and I’m suffering the consequences.

There’s nothing to do but survive. I can’t concentrate. I can’t think straight. I can only wish I were an inventor. I’d invent an undergarment that keeps me cool. It would repel heat, minimize perspiration, and maintain a cool body temperature. Heck, as long as I’m dreaming, it would also be environmentally friendly, and stylish, and (why not?) bullet proof and intelligence enhancing. If we can put a man on the moon, split atoms, and clone sheep, why should a heat-repelling undergarment be so farfetched?

To be honest, the heat has been bearable the last few days. That is to say, the temperature in the shade is tolerable, and I’ve been on some buses where the air-conditioning was satisfactory. Meanwhile, we’ll be spending the weekend at the beach in Sabaudia. Salvation is around the corner, though today’s Monday.

So that’s it for this letter, Shaw. Stick a fork in it because, anyway, I’m cooked.

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