When we spoon, we sweat.
So we keep to our corners of the bed, a boxing ring of moist, annoyed corpses, until the wheezing roar of a fat, smelly garbage truck scrapes us awake.
It's 5am, so we can stagger in and out of miserable consciousness for a few more hours.
I drove around and did some driving and drove the van around a lot again and a lot.
This no A/C fucking bullshit has made my daytime hours officially worthless.
There is no point to my existence during the day.
I'm trying to change this.
I phoned my friend Liz from the radio, and we talked for an hour about the radio.
Maybe there's something there.
I used to do radio.
From 1994-1997 I worked for 93.7 KCLB-FM in Coachella, California.
My radio name was Tony Montana.
The format was AOR.
I loved it to a degree.
But I only made about $12,000 per year.
And I truly hated living in the desert.
It's hot there.
Kind of like it is here.
Yeah, so maybe there's something there in that radio.
For now though, I would be spending the next three hours in bumper to bumper traffic going from Chicago to Mundelein and back to Chicago during the afternoon rush.
I think my left arm is so tan it's almost green now.
Lauren and I had a rare Friday night to ourselves.
We went out to Moody's for burgers and a pitcher of beer.
Great burgers, terrible buns.
They're like flaky, recycled sneakers.
The heat seems to bring out the negative in me.
It was 9pm when we got home.
As soon as I touched the bed I fell asleep.
Lauren did, too.
Our combined sweat woke us up at 2am.
Now we were up.
We watched Splits 'n' Flips on DVR until it started pissing us off.
It was 4am.
We tried the bed again.
I'm hoping they don't have fucking shitty ass 5am garbage trucks on Saturdays.
Verdict: Loss
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