convection currents

the last time it was hot, we were falling in love and hating it. the streets were irritable, trees and worm farms baking behind fences. a man with no top, all angles and muscle, cycled into the heat of smith street outside the needle exchange, the hard brown skin of his calves cut off by white ankle socks. as i passed him going up the hill i saw that an old sanitary pad was stuck to the sole of his runners, hanging off by the wing as he fought the weight of the weather, jaw clenched.