They were slowly puttering over tarmac, an AMC movie theater at the far right end, and a pressing concern about the quality of air conditioning inside Brian’s 1998 Civic.

“I’d rather live in the 3rd circle of hell. At least ‘The Gluttonous’ get a steady diet of heavy rain. Cerberus be damned,” moaned Sheila.

Max blurted, “It’s like living in a marathon runner’s jock strap.”

Their car turned down a row of taken parking spots. The 116 degree weather was making everyone in the Southland empathize with microwaveable meals.

Brian wiped his brow. “How hot does it have to get before humans start evaporating? I’m about to lose consciousness.”

“Just park and let’s get the hell inside,” said Sheila. “I’ll even watch that new M. Night Shyamalan flick, just get me out of here.”

“Noooo,” joked Max. “Anything but that!”

They all laughed, then did a simultaneous ‘uuuggggh.’ After all, their bodies deftly conveyed, Los Angeles should really be a desert.

Their car turned down another row of taken parking spots…