Thunderous Heat Wave Roasts City

heat - thunder

The asphalt shimmered, a mirage of water that never arrived. Sun-baked brick buildings seemed to sweat, their mortar groaning under the relentless assault of the sky. This wasn't just a heatwave; it was an invasion. The kind that presses down on your chest, steals your breath, and turns even the most mundane sidewalk into a battlefield.

Children, usually a riot of color and sound, were hushed, their energy sapped by the oppressive air. They huddled in slivers of shade, eyes wide, watching the heat haze dance. Even the birds seemed subdued, their chirping a muted, desperate plea for relief. The city, usually a symphony of honking horns and hurried footsteps, fell into a strange, lethargic rhythm. Time itself seemed to stretch and warp, each minute an eternity under the golden fist of the sun.

Old Mrs. Gable, who usually had a front-porch hello for everyone, sat fanning herself with a wilting newspaper, her face a mask of resigned discomfort. Her prize-winning petunias, once a vibrant cascade of purple, had surrendered to the inferno, their petals curled and brown. Down at the corner deli, the air conditioning unit wheezed like an asthmatic dragon, struggling valiantly against the encroaching tide of warmth. A constant stream of wilting patrons shuffled in, their faces slick with perspiration, clutching at chilled bottles of water like precious jewels.

Night offered little respite. The concrete held the day's fury, radiating it back with stubborn persistence. Streetlights cast an eerie, molten glow on empty streets, the air thick and heavy, smelling of hot tar and desperation. Sleep was a fitful thing, punctuated by the whir of oscillating fans and the distant, mournful wail of a siren. This wasn't just a break from routine; it was a trial by fire, a test of endurance for a city held captive by the sun.

Thunderous Heat Wave Roasts City

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