The haze of thickened heat was like a blanket wrapped tightly around his body. No longer able to sweat, his body not allowing him to loose of any of the precious moisture it still held, feelings of surreal peace and calm -a dizzy lightness- enclosed him in a half stupor.
He pushed his legs out in front of him and inspected the skin closely. It had turned hard and scaly, all moisture having been evaporated out of the pores long ago. The skin flaked off in small chunk, which he rubbed between his fingers into small balls, lining them up on the slab of concrete he was sitting on. He had fourteen rows of sixty. His left leg was raw and red. He didn?t feel pain, just the heat. He pulled off another scale, rubbed it, and placed it amongst his collection, then lay down on the burning concrete and looked up. He instantly felt dizzy, like the world was spinning and he was drunk. He wished this were true. A cloudless sky, the sun burned in every direction from every angle. There was no escaping but he didn?t care, he was beyond all that. All he could think about was water. He realised now how much of an advantage he took of the precious liquid before. Bottles of it, squirted all over windscreens, with the soapy mixture that never left streaks. An honest living, though most thought he was a bum out for a buck. Everyone?s a bum out for a buck, that?s life. His method didn?t involve and office from 9-5. The only setback was the rain. Oh, the fucking rain.
No one wanted his service, and quite understandably, the rain was doing it for free. He used to thank god it never rained much. Maybe his prayer meant something after all. Soaking the sponge in the bucket, the sun beating down on his tanned and shirtless body, sweating, he darted between cars holding up the sponge. Drivers would nod and he?d lift up the wipers and rhythmically move the sponge back and forth across the smooth windscreens, wiping the excess water off after. Replacing the wipers, he?d lean down to the window and receive his pay. The satisfaction of turning windscreens into shimmering, transparent pieces of glass was almost an addiction.
His body had dried out, cracked, long ago. He rolled his tired body over to his front, and the pain created from the burning concrete was replaced with the burning heat of the sun. The backs of his legs were agony, the hairs pricking up in their pores, stretching towards the sun. Brittle. Everything was burnt. Every sensation was heightened by his bodies? deterioration. Itchy, and without fingernails to scratch, he gently moved his body up and down the concrete, the small pebbles rubbing away at his skin, but the harsh exfoliation relieved the itch for the time being. Lying face down, his head straight out in front of him, adams apple touching flat, he concentrated his eyes on the ant in front of him. It walked past completely unaffected by the drought and surroundings. He focused his eyes, and then focused to another ant slightly further away. He tried to smile at this accomplishment. His eyes slid out of focus again and the itch returned.
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