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Oh, hi August

Good morning August. Technically you started yesterday but I was so hungover I had the pleasure of avoiding you, which is alright as things aren’t really any different than they were yesterday or the day before – the garbage on the street doesn’t glisten and the train’s brakes still sound like nails on a chalkboard.

Like those things you’re manmade but unlike those things you’re imaginary – collectively anyway, like a corporation or a constellation.

For us though you render facts both signifigant and mundane, both of which I ponder on the commute to work on this sunny Monday. The rent’s due, but that’s hardly special and speaks to a shorter cycle. More pressingly it means summer, a longer figment, is winding down. We used to have another 4 weeks of freedom to look forward to at this point. Midway through my childhood they started frontloading hurricane days after Andrew and suddenly August meant school was here rather than just looming.

What does it mean though to the man on the train, staring out the windows and trying to stay awake? Rent we mentioned, bills aren’t worth giving that privilege, and the seasons are a while from doing anything worth pointing out.

So what August means is that it’s going to be godawful hot for a while longer and you’re going to be desperate for a change – kind of like the February of the Summer. If you have time you’ll take the vacation you’ve been putting off. If you don’t have time, well, it’s probably because change is looming inevitably. If you’re too broke to get out, you’re me.

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