“Peter is nowhere to be seen today” she said leaning against the window. Her eyes twitched. The hot July afternoon sun barged in through the window and stood between us. Dust particles danced in concentric circles to the tunes of a typical afternoon.

I had my black, rugged hoodie on, which never left my body no matter what the outside temperature was. She asked if I wasn’t feeling hot in that and I said no.

Until a few weeks ago, before coming here, she never asked if I was feeling hot. She only asked how cold it was, and how cold it is going to get in winter. The possibility of a hot American summer was unfathomable to her. She never quiet believed me when I said it does get hot here in July.

It’s not her fault, though.

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