That is why I come here on the weekends, the suburban area where I work. There isn't much breeze in the city; New Orleans is below sea level
and sultry in its grip on the heat. Pockets of its streets are still, silent. Here, on the strip mall
street, there is always motion. Even though there are no trees, the cars swimming by seem to make up for it.
I stand outside of my office against the railing of the handicap entrance ramp. Suddenly I realize that everything I've picked to wear today is blue, some offshoot of royal blue. Even my nail polish, the baby blue of my tank top that leaves a few inches between it and my jeans, my sapphire Sauconys, even the 8 gauge rings in my ears. I am a vision in blue, in the shade, feeling the hot breeze and hearing the hollow thunder in the distance, the hopeful presentation of rain that last night's heat lightning predicted.
The city is where people are less likely to be moving around for the heat, but here is where people have nothing better to do but move. This is where they come to consume, to eat themselves full on marketed fare. I come here because here is where I can get things done. Most of my food is in the office fridge, the office has central air and a faster modem than my apartment does, and it's quiet. Sometimes I wish I could just set up a cot here and sleep here and never go back to the city. At least here, I know for certain that I am alone, while in the city I am being reminded that I may not be, that there is always that chance that I won't be.
I'd rather have constants right now.