They tell you that you get used to the heat. That after a
while you won’t even notice it. Liars, the lot of them. Every day is a fresh
hell, opening the door every morning, and that first rush of boiling hot air
slamming into you, you never get used to that, never adjust.
Every day is spent sweating, heaving, desperately trying to
find that brief moment of shade, of cool fluid, enough to turn the heat from
overpowering to merely overbearing.
But I guess it’s fitting, atonement is supposed to be like
this, right? Just with more red pitchfolks?
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