Sunday Coma

I only got out of bed maybe 4-5 times yesterday. Not from illness or depression or even laziness. Rather, I was immersed in Truman Capote's In Cold Blood. It's been a while since a book has held me hostage like that; causing me to forego the day's potential for social activity and/or requisite chores in favor of near-perfect prose. Read in less than 24-hours, this was my first Capote book, and certainly not the last.

And it was the perfect day to do it. The heat index in Kansas City was 115 degrees. My dedicated second-floor central A/C system did yeoman's work throughout the day without rest, but to no avail. Even while sitting perfectly still on the bed in only a pair of shorts, the tepid, humid air caused me to glisten, and Casey to lay lazily at my feet, lightly panting. There's something extra special about a good book, a hot summer day and loyal companion.