Washington, D.C. is downwind of me a thousand miles or so, yet living here is still an existence in hot, wet wind.
(1) Even before 7 a.m. the air conditioner is huffing, and I'm feeling only trace amounts of guilt at selfishly depleting the world's dwindling supply of energy resources. I'm afraid the caribou and my posterity will simply need to adapt.
(2) On Dawn patrol this morning the atmosphere was composed of mist rising from the fields everywhere.
(3) Paper matches will not ignite.
(4) New Dog Libby is no longer interested in following me outside.
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