Heat Stroke

the heat starts it, i think.
when you prefer the icey caverns of the cold english breeze (or to put it another way: the grey landscape of this depressive nation) suddenly to find a weekend of hot hot heat to be somewhat a strange encounter. for me it means sweating the skin from my bones and going a little funny in the head.
it seems the weekend has turned in on itself. just this morning i was imagining a squad of black-clad ninjas attacking me as i slurped down my orange juice. of course, being a man of reason, i was calm. i was collected. but i was not cool. the heat has bitten me and boy was it a deep cut. trash cans turned to dragons and my dogs were ravenous beasts who had more in company with a desert vulture than my loveable furry friends.
as i evaporated like an ice cream, i came to the rational conclusion that these beasts who stalked me would be my undoing. the only thing i can do to keep what thread of pride i have left is to not let them take me. the crazed mongoose that waited for me under my bed was indeed going to be the one. he would be the bastard to make that final blow to my skull and feast on the maggoty loot inside.
i would not give them the satisfaction of a dinner, i thought to myself, as i raised the gun to my forehead.