Second Verse

Well the thermostat is holding at surface-of-the-sun-hot. The Office Manager doesn't want to call a repair person, she thinks that it just takes awhile for a building to cool down. I suspect that "awhile" means months and that we should expect relief in, oh, December. I'm really not sure what to make of this since I am delirious, a side effect of heat stroke I suspect. I've accepted that the outside layer of epidermis on the back of my thighs, the layer which was diligently faux tanned with tubes of oddly smelling lotions, is now no longer golden, but instead clear. It has been melted from my body. It no longer exists. Each time I am required to move my ass from the black pleather of my chair, I feel a sting and hear a rip. If I actually stand up and look, there is a sweaty ass print in my chair. This is extremely sexy. I think I am making my coworkers hot in ways that the heat has not. I'm not the only one suffering. My printer has given up and jams my paper. I take this as a sign that I should kick back and take a break. Although I am not sure how I should break from reclining in my chair, feet on my desk, fan blowing on my face ... recline on the floor maybe ... heat rises?