thirty-four degrees
34°C. The city has given up. Everybody's at a lake or lying on a floor.
My flat is under the roof, so it's a sauna with Wi-Fi. I've been working with my feet in a bucket of cold water, which I recommend and also do not recommend.
The Späti downstairs has a handwritten sign: Kein Eis mehr. Sorry. Morgen. No more ice. Sorry. Tomorrow.
Evening: everyone's out on the pavements on folding chairs, like a village. The old Turkish man from the ground floor shared watermelon with half the street. Nobody has spoken this much in this building in five years.