And it's Hot Like Me.

Still blazing, still humid. You could grow orchids in here, but I wouldn't bother. They're probably poisonous to cats, and Truman's curious. The AC still kicks out, shutting off the computer while it's at it. It makes typing an act of desperation; you never know when you're thoughts will disappear into the ether. It's hot in here- you'd see them float away, hazy.

I went to the gym tonight for the first time in a month or so. Hot in there, too. So it felt familiar. There was an old man with a personal trainer, and if he's not dead yet, he will be by nightfall. I admire the man's moxie, but mourn his family's loss. I got my stuff done and split, and now, here I am.

New 100 Words. If you get there late, meaning tomorrow, it's yesterday's, dig? Something about brunettes in red dresses being nothing but trouble.