Roasting

Banana milkshakes at the lake with Irina yesterday, who’s barely an adult now—that still feels strange to say. We played Durak, some Russian card game where I’m perpetually useless, and I got demolished every single hand. By evening we were too wrung out to do anything but collapse in front of whatever was on the TV.

It’s still brutal heat today. The kind where you’re drenched just from existing. I’ve essentially moved to the roof terrace, slowly turning into a rotisserie. O.C., California is the only thing that’ll get me back inside.