Jack was hot.
Worst of all, his underwear was boiling.
“I need silk under-things” he muttered, sweating profusely.
Jack had always trouble naming the things. The word underpants made him uneasy and slips always slipped from his mind when he needed it most.
To be fair though, it wasn’t a common topic of his conversation. But global warming had changed all that, and his briefs were now a hot topic for him to consider.
If only briefly.
Because he was slowly melting and would soon need neither vest nor pants.
Socks had long since become a memory.
Except sometimes at night when he wore one on his right foot.
“If you don’t mind me asking…” the visitor watching him walk across the scorched earth paused, “ why are you wearing one sock?”
There was a reason, of course - something to do with anti-inflammatory medical adhesive patches- but he had no intention of saying so many words.
The effort, in this heat, would complete the melting process that had him decomposing into droplets of hot acid that sizzled on the path behind him.
“Why not?” He offered. A standard reply these days.
“Why not indeed,” the visitor agreed. Sounding as if such a conversation was entirely logical.
Jack stared at the visitor, trying to understand him. (It was a he).
He seemed untroubled by the blazing sun, indeed he appeared to consider it normal.
It wasn’t.
The man must be mad, Jack concluded.
“You’re insane,” he said, sharing that conclusion.
The visitor started laughing.
“Like that guy in Paris who jumped off the bridge during the heatwave?”*
* in Seine (it's an old one).
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