The sun was perverse. Today, I do not feel as if the sun enveloped me lovingly in a blanket of warmth.
The skin of my upper body feel as if has been flayed unmercifully with searing lashes of liquid fire. These lashes map the expanse of my exposed skin with pulsating welts, raw to the touch.
As I ponder that I will have to sleep face down tonight and uncovered, I think back to the events which resulted in such an excruciating situation as I am in.
I decide that part of the blame lies on the Los Angeles Public Library. Yes, on the ideas one may encounter ensconced in the pages of obscure volumes expectant to be chosen; these hopeful as abandoned pets in shelters, longing to be adopted.
To be continued….
