It’s all sorts of hot, here.
The insides of my spectacles are fogging up and
I wanna write curse words on the glass.
But…
My fingers won’t fit behind the frames.
I would have wrote F U in one lens
And C then K in the other one.
clever stuff.
The sun is making my sweat sticky.
Not in a good sticky way.
In the “this dust is gonna cling to you all day”
sticky kind of way.
And I sorta see some black smudges at the edge of the field.
I'll bet they're buzzards.
Those things would eat me if it got the chance.
Well, they’d eat me if I was lying there dead.
Or dying and feeble.
Gross.
It’s too humid to be lying dead in a cornfield
Getting all eaten by vultures.
Too humid for me anyways,
The deer they’re eating doesn’t seem to mind.
I think it’s too dead to worry about the situation.
And I’m too sweaty to worry about the situation.
Fuck.
It’s Hot.
