I turned the engine over and drove to my place. Not my house, my place: MY place, where I can listen to albums and stare out across the city.

I climbed up through the sunroof to get out in the raw air, it’s a broiling 95 degrees but so much better than being inside. Cars move on I-80, stopping and going. The sun hides behind the west mountains and leaves ribbons of brilliant burning orange in the sky and reflected in the great salt lake. I can see for miles in every direction.

This moment is so cliché
and stupid
and fantastic
and freeing.

I wonder how I’ll survive this heat. One day at a time, just like everything else.