Hotter than a match head

It's the third day of a heat wave, the day when people start to crack. By this afternoon I expect to be lying on my back on the floor of the house, along with the cats, with a cold washcloth on my forehead.

Yesterday Cris wanted to go to a furniture clearance sale because the advertisement showed some dining room chairs like the ones she's been stalking for years. We drove out to the Bayview district, to a neighborhood of warehouses, and turned onto the street shown in the advertisement. It was choked with u-hauls and pickup trucks. Evidently people in the cheap furniture trade had shown up ready, as Cris said, to acquire mass quantities. We almost immediately got sandwiched in between two large pickup trucks trying to squeeze their way along the choked street. As it was 95 degrees outside, we would have had to park two blocks away, and Cris is using a cane, we simply fled without even getting out of the car. I don't even want to think about what it was like inside the warehouse.

In the evening I went over to Berkeley, which was slightly cooler than the city, and when I came home the house was just as hot as it was during the daytime, judging by the thermometer on the thermostat. It cools off fine when there's a breeze, but there wasn't any breeze. We slept all night with nothing but a sheet, that's how warm it was.

Now at 8:30 it's already 78 inside the house, and it'll be another hot day; I'm not so sure about the forecast fog coming in. In the sky is a strange sight: a clear blue sky with little smog and white fluffy clouds, as if this were Illinois.

technorati: San Francisco, heat wave