Been loving this bone dry air and skin cracking heat. The desert blows in and it’s Raymond Chandler time, honest, brooding, beautiful. Languid moves and the cool delights of shade. Desert grooves spin on the victrola and someone says Fats Domino has slipped this mortal coil.
This is an old school So Cal October heat wave, dry as tinder, hot as hell. The room swirls in desert wind and I lie on the sofa and evaporate. I love these days and even more the nights and the memories of slow stoned afternoons writing on paper.