Still, heavy air weights the night. The crescent moon hangs like a drop of sweat glistening on the sky's brow. Despite the stillness of the air, there is no silence. There is the chirping of crickets, the hum of air conditioners, the whine of laboring engines, and now and then the clatter of a helicopter. They're keeping an eye out for fires, I guess. So far I've heard no thunder and seen no lightning, but this is just the sort of weather that brings them. Keep away, lightning. Go away, heat.