Prime Time

As this is being written, early on a humid, over-heated and fetid Detroit August, while second-hand fanscirculate and re-circulate the heavy unfriendly air thru my modest pseudo-slum dwelling, while my dog lies beached at my feet, exhausted from too much panting, and my cat dumps in the window pane watching with resignation as the grass of my untended lawn begins to caress the front door (the mice die of heat stroke only inches from the cheese and the trap—what puny sport they offer! Perhaps, she thinks, within the encroaching weeds and grass a hearty breed of winter mice is incubating), while my girlfriend kneels in front of the open refrigerator with her head in the crisper, seeking relief among the lettuce...