You can't tell from the picture, but outside it's a living hell. Temperature 94, heat index 212. The air is palpable. It's like invisible cotton candy, but the flavor is stinky sweat. The sun is hovering maybe 100, 150 feet above. After a few minutes out there, you pray to be picked up by the CIA and extra-whatevered to a vicious third-world country and waterboarded. Cool, refreshing waterboarding. The cherry on top is a rotting squirrel in front of the door, brought by Charlene the cat as some kind of demented peace offering after stepping in my puttanesca.