Here is where we are at right about now.
Someone is looking forward to summer in Tucson, Arizona.
Someone else dreads it. Because poverty is a bitch when it’s 105 outside. Even the middle class can’t afford sun screen with extra economic protection.
Somewhere a bureaucrat is about to hit “send” even though she knows she shouldn’t. But the best time to get four votes is, well, right about this time; when it’s about to get too hot to even think; when you don’t want to be bothered on vacation with your family because you still don’t know how you are going to pay for it when you get back home. You just know you can’t afford not to go: They can take away your house, but they can’t take away walking to the beach with your kid from the Motel 6..
The big joke back when I was in college was that you should never break up or start a new relationship during summer break. It’s just too hot to do either. Perfect time for bureaucrats to do their thing because even older voters live and suffer under the same Sonoran sun.
Right about now someone is thinking that maybe a mom and pop shouldn’t open up a mom and pop in June when even experienced mom and pops aren’t sure they can make it through summer themselves. But does mom and pop really have a choice? Mom and pop are sweating big, round, wet, stressful mom and pop bullets.
Somewhere, someone is looking in the mirror. Getting ready for a graduation ceremony. He wonders if people will know just by looking at him. How is he going to pay for this? How did this happen to him? To his family? Nobody needs to know. Nobody will know. And for a few hours, while he celebrates the one he loves more than anything, hoping she will be better than him in her own life, some broke, zero population jerk-off will celebrate Sonoran cuisine in fashionable 3rd world attire.
Somewhere a mom is already thinking about September. Let’s just make it to September. One, two, three… just three months. ‘We can do this!’.
Somewhere a local politician knows better. But it’s too hot. It’s just too damn hot.
Right about now a local journalist wonders if he should just take that job. Listen, everyone is doing it! He is not an idealistic college student anymore- he has a family and bills to pay. And doing the work of 3 is just bullshit. You want an investigative journalist? Bite me! It’s too hot. It’s just too hot.
Along some steep hill, in a barrio on the west side, a campaign worker is about to collapse from a heat stroke. ‘Que viva la causa my ass’, she thinks, ‘I’m going to skip those next 4 houses. They will never know.’
And somewhere in a nice living room under ice cold, state of the art air conditioning, a little, frightened family watches city streets being torched on CNN. Leading questions roll off of reporter tongues with thinly veiled fears of their own. Their TV is right next to a majestic window with a perfect view of the city. It’s so hot out there. So hot and scary.
And that is where are at. We all knew that cool May was a lie. June has it out for us – everything will burn like it’s personal.