The summer I moved to Somerville was not that bad. The heat had been worse before, and it’s worse now. The apartment I was living in was hot. The front rooms, where my bed was, had a wall  of windows and it was fine. Comfortable even. The kitchen, the dense kitchen with its stove and oven and water boiler and black roof, became unbearable hours after the sun rose.

Mika and I sat at the table across from one another. We were visibly sweating. I could feel individual beads of water rolling down my neck and back. Over bowls of hot pasta and pesto, we looked at one another silently, and then smiled.


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