A Hundred-and-Fuck Degrees

Tonight it's a hundred-and-fuck degrees, the AC is out, the water is running intermittently, and the Internet is dial-up slow. I probably should be angry, but instead I am feeling nostalgic about the late 90s and our old little pad at King's Road Apartments in West Hollywood, where it was always like this, and we didn't care. We had each other, a couple of cats, and a roof over our heads. And love was enough.