Beads of sweat rolled down Imogen's forehead as she sat at her desk, doing nothing. She had a bottle of frozen lemon water next to her that just wouldn't melt fast enough. The image of a small pool of blood on ribbed metal kept appearing in her mind. Her phone kept ringing with an unregistered number, but she couldn't hear a thing when she answered it. Nobody who wasn't already in her phonebook really had her number anyway. Her hearing was still muffled from having to listen to a small child scream incessantly on the train an hour before. Her eyes glazed over.
It had been a long summer.
The sweltering humidity was not a thing Imogen was used to. She hadn't eaten this much ice cream since she was 7 years old either. She tried every flavour there was: chocolate, vanilla, strawberry cream, caramel, milk, coffee, sweet red bean, green tea, honey cotton candy, and more. Her head pounded with thoughts. Memories of ridiculous fights, hangovers, deafening speakers, sweaty Brazilians, smelly Japanese, plastic bentos, and a merciless sun. Fantasies of dry air, scarfs, fish and chips, dark beer, clothes that came in her size (as opposed to the pygmies she lived among now), and a man who might love her. Pounding thoughts. Pounding, pounding, pounding.
It had been a long summer.
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