IMAGINARY CITY

IMAGINARY CITY

Rod began his day like any other. From his car which seemed like a giant frying pan skimming the street, he watched Squiggly lines that seemed to sizzle skyward to the sun. Or was it the other way around? The heat grilled him, having been turned from bake to broil, even though he drove with the windows open. The car seat was like a red-hot burner, and he felt like an uninvited guest at a barbecue. He parked his mobile oven in the parking lot, the tires melting into the soft, black tar.

The elevator in the office building conjured up images of being trapped in a microwave oven headed for hell. He loosened his collar around his sunburned neck, sweltering in the suffocating steam. For some reason the thermostat had been turned up, and the temperature soared. His desk simmered like a giant frying pan, and the chair literally baked his buns, basting the bottom with sweat. The hands of the clock stuck on three-thirty, and the computer screen sauteed his brain as if it were a giant shrimp being stir-fried.

re-entering his car, now turned greenhouse, Rod burned up the road homeward like a house on fire. the heat boil on his neck throbbed. At least maybe his wife would have a nice roast for dinner. He wished he could extinguish the torch, the pilot light of this day; it felt more like the eternal flame.

Then he realized this was no imaginary city; this was just Phoenix in summertime.

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