Hal couldn’t wait to get his apartment windows open. The weatherman had predicted record highs, the highest temperatures in months in fact. So Hal was giddy. He loved the warm weather. He liked the short sleeves and cool breezes that danced playfully, meandering between deliciously warm and mildly cool that makes bare skin goose-pimple. It was hot weather Hal didn’t like. Hot weather could be just as miserable as the coldest day of the year.
Hot weather; really sticky stupid hot humid weather was torture to Hal. He liked a day where the sun was shining but the temperature never really got above seventy eight degrees. Those days were his favorite. Hal just sweat too much in the hot, brutal summer weather. He’d ruined more tee-shirts than he could count with his drippings. It was very hard to meet a hot summer girl that way. He thought for a moment about all the prettiest girls he’d known and how then never really seemed to sweat. They always seemed soft and glowing while he was melting.
Hal slipped the window screen in place and stood back to see if he could feel the burgeoning spring wind blow through the opening. There was no breeze to speak of yet, but it was early still and the day would only get nicer. It was a shame that Hal had to go to work. He’d like nothing better than to play hooky and head over to the park with a good book and just soak in the sunshine and swirling spring air.
It wasn’t fair Hall thought. He was suddenly overwhelmed with the cruelty of it all. It was such a lovely day, a gift granted to us for the short time that we have on this lump of rock floating in the Goldilocks zone gravitationally held in place by a star; maybe by God. It was just mean he couldn’t enjoy this beautiful, sexy, day by being stuck at a desk in a cube in an airless block of stone surrounded by the Spartan temperature controlled environs of “The Man”. It was an injustice and it really shouldn’t be tolerated.
Hal sighed and leaned out toward the window to smell the morning. He could smell the generosity of this day. He looked back toward his wall clock and noted the time. He was already running late for work. His daydreaming had once again left him in a Walter Mitty debacle. He rushed toward the table to grab his apartment keys and shot out through the door. If he hurried he could make the train.
When he stepped out onto the sidewalk and the warm morning touched him on his cheek, he knew he’d never make that train. A stroll was more important than a sprint and if there were any roses along the way, he’d certainly stop to smell them. Damn the cube. Damn the desk, the e-mails, the voicemails, the greed, the hell. He’d taste this bit of heaven while the tasting was good.