I should be angry and spouting invective about this wretched heat.  But at some point one must admit to oneself that one, for good or ill, at some point chose to live in the middle of a goddamn desert, and therefore one must artfully cope with the consequences of such a stupid decision, with such consequences being entire weeks of high temps in the 120s and…and I suppose that’s it.  But still…that alone is positively soul killing.  Not to mention those gigantic, malignant arachnids.  Or the rattlesnakes.  Or the turkey vultures.  Arrogant pricks.
Anyway, today was okay as far as Sundays go.  Wrote a bit.  There was BBQ.

N.P.: “Beat to Death Like a Dog” – Rhino Bucket