It is summer. I count the dots on my thigh: eight, arranged like a constellation still to be named. Just one mosquito, I wonder. Seems possible. I keep a bucket of ice water in the fridge in case of emergencies and by emergencies I mean existence. Memories of overheating like that one summer moons ago, waitressing beside a wood-fired oven. The AC had given up and I didn’t blame it. I am a light sleeper. Air conditioning is a road crew drilling through bedrock. I turn it off. Wake up sweating. The cat watches me from the corner of the bed. Do something. I apologize and pour ice water over my head for the both of us. I walk. Shade only. Forest only. Morning or night, never day. In my head, I live in a lounger, drink gimlets, and read vintage paperbacks. In real life, I hover near the pool like a ghost of leisure. I stream the pool collection on the Criterion Channel and call it relief. My boyfriend gave me his login. It is summer. I count the days until fall like coins in a hot hand.
❧
See you next Friday,
xx
Jana
📕Out now: Walk Her Way New York City. A Walking Guide to Women’s History. (Hardie Grant, 2025) | the book on amazon