The Dog Days of summer have arrived. My room bakes. The air, so cooled and well circulated by the fan in June, now only recycles its own heat. I've run out of the reserve and patience needed to combat the humidity. The summer once so ebullient and charming suddenly sucks.
Bad tans haunt the night.
The crime graph spikes, and by July I'm ready to fight. August at least has the drama of Labor Day's exit from the season, but July is the Dog.