Rawhide!

Posting posting posting, each day I write a posting, while potatoes I am roasting, rawhide!

Or something like that.

Day 10, or 9. The temperature has dropped outside. Yet in the library it is as toasty as an early summer day if you're actually standing in the sun and not in a shady spot. If you're standing in the shady spot then there's a bit of a breeze and the pavement hasn't had enough time to start soaking up the heat to reflect up at your face. So you still need a sweater.
Pavement heat always smells a bit acrid.
But not the library, that just smells like dust and cats. Particularly in the heat.
The morning sun slid across the sky until the afternoon turned pink with the effort of trying to stay warm outside of the windows. Those few lucky sunbeams that made it through the library glass get to float all lazy like alligators in a Floriday swamp. A select few sunbeams went right for the carpet and lit up the polyester twists in gold, the next stage of keeping warm.
You'd think they'd at least try to make some conversation. Pushing their way into my library like that and all they can do is turn gold and give the cats someplace to lie down.
If I were to lie in the sun it would be my luck that the fire engines next door would decide to run their weekly ladder check. Some guy would get lifted up in the bucket, and looking across the street and through the library window see me sprawled out on the floor, trying to capture those carpet sunbeams with my face.
Undignified I tell you.
I'd kick those sunbeams out like Orange Street bums if I could. Send 'em scrabbling for cover. Coming in and mucking around in my library. Damnned lazy sun. Can't it see I've got other things to do, like the dishes, or the laundry?
But I can't kick 'em out. Have to wait for them to be good and ready to leave. Their not susceptible to threats. Just go on being lazy. Just for spite I think. No work for them tomorrow. They just get to slide from place to place, morning to afternoon. It's always morning to afternoon somewhere.
Always.