Out of the Frying Pan

It's stifling. Laying on the couch looking out the window my vision blurs and a drop of sweat trickles down the side of my face from my right temple. The air is heavy. It's become something almost palpable. You have to work to drag it into your lungs to breath and then before you exhale you feel it settle all around you like a living creature that's trying to crush the life from you. Not even sound penetrates the atmosphere of the apartment. The usual street noise which crashes through the window, during the night, doesn't even seem to stir the air of the tiny living room where I sleep. As I sit up the heat only intensifies. I look out the window again and although the sun has almost set its effects still linger. I think I'll lay here awhile longer and pray for the cool and the dark.