A Scorcher I sweat Ahelgany and Monongahela scorch down my face. My lungs toil as woefully inadequate bellows enslaved in the blacksmith's forge. Air is exchanged Breathing but a memory, as the Sun continues its aggressive interrogation. My body a blunt lethargic chisel carves out with somber devotion hot iridescent granite blocks of heat with each step I take. Pressed to my brow water and rocks fill the goblet. Precious droplets of well chilled soothing elixir resuscitate my soul. Water. More precious than Sovereigns. More intoxicating than Absynthe. Sigh.
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