literature


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It’s hot, too hot. The daytime temperature in Madrid has not gone below 90F (30C) since the beginning of June, and I don’t have air conditioning. Three months of this continuous, unwavering heat takes its toll on you.

I could cool off at the local public pool, but that would be communism, right? Actually, I don’t go because a recent Leonard Lopate Show podcast totally turned me off to water leisure.

Sure, I would love to let myself get all worked up about

But it’s just too hot. Instead, I would rather spend time wedged between my fan and humidifier, finishing Olive Kitteridge, re-reading The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, watching the new seasons of Mad Men and the continuously disappointing Weeds, following the revived Real Madrid, and stressing about my upcoming Moroccan wedding.

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