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Saturday in Hell...

I'm sitting in a Starbucks on Crenshaw Boulevard because a) my cave of a home doesn't received adequate wireless Internet service, and b) it's hot as Hell itself in there.

I personally think it's a crime against nature for an apartment to be hot. I knew it didn't have an air conditioner when I rented it, but I swear I didn't think it would be this miserable. This is one of those days when I'd like to lounge around the house, but there will be none of that as long as Satan himself is posted up on my couch.

In fact, it was the heat that woke me up this morning. I was a sweaty mess in my bed, so I got up, took a cold bath (really, there's nothing like a cold bath to cool your body down), and headed here. I bought a caramel frappuccino and posted up with my laptop to cool off, write, and people watch.

This particular location is bustling with activity. Not only is it the weekend, but it's also across the street from Leimert Park, Los Angeles' version of a cultural Black community. Every weekend, the people gather to play the drums and dance around. Call me crazy, but I don't see the culture in that. I need to understand what the point is. If you're calling on the ancestors or honoring something, okay. I don't get it, but I can respect it. At this point, it just looks like a bunch of weirdos flailing around in an attempt to look deep.

Anyway, all kinds venture into this coffeehouse. Some are here with their laptops to take advantage of its hot spot status. There are a few using the comfortable spot to chat with friends and make business deals. However, I think the majority are just here to escape the heat. I know I am.

I don't know if I'll ever leave. After all, that would involve me going outside, and that's what I can't do until the temperature drops somewhere below the hellish range.

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