And the canicule is upon us again—not too bad today, 91F forecast, but tomorrow is supposed to be 99, then Wednesday and Thursday, 104 and 108 (!), respectively. It feels like one of those disaster movies, like I’ll be flying out of its clutches just before it devours everything.
I was dashing around again this morning, a little later than yesterday, accomplishing my list of small errands. Back by 10:30, but with the heat and humidity and fierce sun, already a sweaty mess anyway.
After resting and cleaning up the kitchen, I pulled myself together and ventured out again for a slightly late lunch at Le Bistrot du Peintre, that amazing Art Nouveau space near Bastille, where I’ve never had a bad meal. Sat outside. Drank lots of water as well as wine and coffee, and still am constantly thirsty.
I’ve begun the little preliminaries to packing, to gathering up my always temporary existence here and winging back to another hot spot. This evening is Spoken Word again. I see the featured performers are to be Diana Norma Szokolyai and Dennis Shafer.I don’t think I’ll stay for more than one session, in an un-“climatisée” cellar that swelters even in winter. (Spoiler: and she didn’t, being in somewhat the state of heated candle wax, despite her foldable fan—and the box of paper fans belatedly passed around to the other heatstroke candidates—the cold juice, the cool stone wall behind her. The saxophone didn’t help.)
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