Er zol vaksen vi a tsibeleh, mit dem kop in drerd!

District-ites have been onioning these hot months (yes, both in smell and in aspect, my tender little bulb). My floor is full of sweaty peels dehydrating under the jet of the air conditioner. Late at night, (compelled by Al Gore or some other shadowy, yet corpulent, enviro-hero) I am shamed out of sleep to flick off the icebox and lie oozing dew into the floral bedspread. The heat keeps us wakeful and surreptitiously we put sticky fingers into our pits and sniff away, some Mary Catherine Gallagher with hay fever. Sometimes this does this trick and smell of fresh sweat stupefies us back into slumbers redolent of boiled cabbage. Other times though, we lie awake just inhaling and trying to tell the difference between our pungent bodies and the fulsome air.

But ah, tonight: glorious time warp to some 1920's April. The sidewalk was sepia with a dash of rising mist. And I looked to find trench-coated men peering into vegetable beds. Sadly, I fear all the noir detectives have moved on to sunnier climes.