The third heatwave

It’s my fourth day straight in the park. Marshmallow ice cream, then Solero, I couldn’t finish the new marshmallow-flavoured Twister, and today, one scoop banoffee, second of marshmallow but the banoffee is way too sweet. Peeling off the grass stuck to the back of my legs. It’s like hay. Spiders make new freckles across the backs of my hands and then the freckles move. I’m not trying to make this text any good. It’s just a sign of life. I live in the shade now. Sometimes lie on my side, the trees at a right angle. I can see the horizon flickering. The burnt yellow ground is a candle. A Scouse dad in a polo shirt walks past fast on the phone: ‘And I imagine, of his business, we’re only 5% or less. Correct?’ I cannot be in the house when it’s like this. Every room, every position, fan on or off, makes me sick. Heat’s the worst thing for POTS. Two weeks ago, I hadn’t got myself together in time and, I don’t know, the heat got cumulative. It was in the bricks. It’s different when the heat…