The coffee sat forgotten for an hour after I'd brewed it. My attention span drops as the thermometer rises. My thoughts are as brown and dry as the summer grass the fields now host. Inside my fevered skull my brain droops like one of Dali's watches. It will soon puddle, I fear, and drip from my ears. That's the sort of thing I dream in this heat, anyway. I'm going to go ice that coffee. Good thing I had the foresight to make it decaf. Midnight is upon us.