There's this Spike Lee movie.
I say that like I'm familiar with the man's work. I'm not. I've seen half a movie, once. I was lying on a bed in South Vietnam, watching the endless rotation of the fan above me, and sweating profusely, fevered and unable to sleep. Below me in the streets, slim pretty women sped by, sidesaddle on mopeds. Spike Lee movie, late at night on some forsaken movie channel.
"Do The Right Thing". The action takes place over the course of a single day. And, as the haze of the heat ripples across the screen, temperatures and tempers rise.
This is all blurred through warm memories. I wasn't drunk, I remember that. But my stomach ached. I thought that I might die, but at the same time, I couldn't face that idea, so I decided that this was just a phase, and it would pass. Outside, a siren wailed.
Heat, oppressive and clammy, weighs down upon us, freezes us into immobility. Tensions build, everyone wanting that explosion to happen, something to validate them, to free them from the heat-induced lethargy. There is a need for release, for relief. For something.