Broken Summer

The weather is terrible and I don’t want to talk about it—except that it’s grey and wrong and the summer has failed to materialize and I find myself staring at the sky like it owes me something. Making a mixtape when the season refuses to cooperate is a petty act of defiance, but it’s the one available. Beach Fossils for the haze that should be there and isn’t; Calvin Harris for the synthetic warmth you have to manufacture when the real thing won’t show up; Robyn because Robyn always makes more sense when you’re a little sad about something you can’t quite name. It doesn’t fix the sky. Nothing fixes the sky. But it helps.