Heat Makes Everyone Weird

“All this rock and concrete is making me eggboiled, HEEHEE!”

She swept the sweat from her hairline with the back of her hand, then pressed a tissue against her scotch‑tired eyes. She could’ve used the tissue for both, but she didn’t care. Her features were magnificent, and her head was small.

“Last name Jackson?”

He slid his glasses off and angled a heat‑drunk grin her way. When his gaze drifted to her lips, he jerked his head toward a plane overhead. By the time he looked back, the heat had pinked his cheeks.

“Trying to say I’m cool?”

“Cool enough to fail. All these buildings are made out of glass‑ass greenhouse.”

“Under the tree then?”

“Mhmm. Let’s dodge the winged and the stinging while we’re at it.”

In this neighbourhood, drunken men were rare. Children blaming their mothers for the heat were far more common. Today broke tradition—ferally.

“Something funny, bruv?!”

“He did not just kick me and then ask if something was funny.”

“I think he did.”

“Is that even allowed?”

“To be fair, your legs were in the way.”

The man checked the time, then squinted at the ticket that could’ve passed for a beer receipt. He shoved a finger up his nose and polished his bald head with the same hand.

“Oh honey, thanks for waiting for me down at the pub — all the way up here.”

“That’s the seagull that was following me,” he announced to the two sitting under the tree.

Tia stared at him, blink‑locked.

“Haha! Very funny. Let’s go! I’m going to have all the ice and you’re going to…”

Their argument dissolved as they wandered off.

“Promise me you’re not going to get weird because of the heat.”

“Don’t you feel like putting your face in a fountain?”

“While the foundation is taking the piss and the shade?”

Tia decided they had chosen a butt‑level viewing area.

Down the street, a group of men greeted each other fist to fist. Clean straight cuts. Sagging trousers. One hand glued inside a pocket.

“This is a heat‑stroke talent show moment,” Tia said.

“A boy band with unsettling body language. Gold buzzer for sure.”

“We should run.”

“It’s lava‑level. Way too hot.”

“We are way too vulnerable to be using that as an excuse. You’re not even taller than me.”

“Oh low. Very low of you, Tia.”

“I know you’re not seriously mad at me.”

“Of course I’m mad at you.”

“You usually take a joke.”

“Look, they’re gone. You can apologise.”

“For telling you you’re exactly my type.”

“That’s what you do to get out of trouble.”

The sky beyond the trees churned with morning blue and white rage.

The birds fell silent.

The light refused to feel, and the heat refused to kneel.

A thick line of red pulsed behind Tia’s eyes, a sure sign the sun wasn’t surrendering anytime soon.

A man, or tall boy, in a green jumper hunched over a full box of pizza, several slices already missing. Black headphones clamped over his ears. Alone.

Beside him, a woman with orange highlights streaking her trousers spun a hoop around her hips, her hand carving slow, deliberate circles in the air.

“All I know is he will not hear me coming.”

“The universe is not going to send him a text to distract him.”

“I will believe what I want to believe.”

“I will do it.”

“Really? You would do that for me?”

“Stop doing your voice like that. It’s putting me off.”

“See? If we were not sitting here bickering, he would not have left with the damn pizza.”

“You could steal her hoop instead.”

“How is a hoop going to fix my hunger?”

“Everybody dances away their problems. It has been proven to work.”

“In this weather, even the ravens are doing the side step.”

“Oh, so now you’re interested in her and not me.”

“You should be a lawyer.”

A couple posed beneath the tree, the man craning his neck to kiss her. Then another photo with their child wedged between them, tiny arms looped around their necks. The seagulls cackled overhead. The sun intensified. Across the way, a red robin performed a fever‑flutter. Somewhere, a child hooted like an owl. A dried leaf drifted down a man’s shoulder. A wasp settled boldly on his wife’s thigh. She reached into her pocket for her phone.

“Fuck!”

“That is what we should not do when we get home.”

“I know. I know. It’s fucking hot!”

Tia and her boyfriend laughed and kissed.

After the couple left, a bee landed on the stony path littered with bottle caps and cigarette buds. Two ladies approached carrying sausage rolls and three balls of yarn, no bag in sight. The smell of the sausage roll brushed Tia’s nose and, in a blur, before the ladies realised, they were left holding only the yarn.

“In this economy you have to make your own clothes.”

“Eating out is expensive. I do not blame you. Kind of funny they did not bother coming after you.”

“Right?!”

She offered him a bite, and they parted.

Too hot to body‑press.