It’s too hot in Minneapolis. Too hot to run or think or be a cauliflower, yet I’ve done at least two of those things today.

A skinny teenage boy passed out in the park.  Don’t worry, appropriate officials were called. An equally skinny girl dug through his bag as a cop tried to get the boy to say a coherent phrase. The dog and I stopped to watch as the cop propped up the boy each time the heat pushed his body back towards the ground. In theory, I like the heat. I always have. But theory is just the bastard child of reality. After my run today, I couldn’t think, couldn’t focus or form useful sentences. This kind of heat is just as bad as the deepest cold of winter. We’re trapped inside by the weather. I may have to rethink my theory.

It’s too hot, my friends.

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