It's too hot to be outside. It's too stuffy at home.

In the kitchen, the little patch in front of the refrigerator is cold. Someone left the fridge open. All this carelessness and I do a little dance on the cold tiles. My feet are smiling.

I hold an ice cube do an awkward juggle between one hand and another until it melts and my fingertips feel numb. Ice scraped off the roof of the freezer was better equipped for playing on hot afternoons, but they don't make fridges like that anymore.

I sit on my bed. It is lying on warm rocks but without the sense of adventure. I watch the fan churn hot air around my room. They say it's November, but I have my doubts.