The afternoon is dry. Dry like a desert. Well, that’s a lie, since this place practically is a desert.

Overhead, the sky is azure blue—not a cloud in sight, of course.

I always loved living out here. My entire family lived in this house before me, but I’m the only one left.

This lonesome pen and I make a good team, I suppose. The only sound ringing throughout the house is the tip of the pen scratching on the paper.

Maybe Emma’s right. Maybe I should move to the city.

For a moment there, I was completely senile. The city would drive me crazy. I went there once, and I was nearly suffocated. Never again.

The desert

No, I’ve used that word too many times.

It’s hot

Well, way to go there, darling. Extremely perceptive of me.

I’m sitting here at the kitchen window, writing, as always. I think it’s one thing I’ll never tire of.

I can see vultures circling in the shimmy of the heat, outlines distorted.

Well, maybe some things could stand some change.

I wonder what’s attracting them…