Car tires stuck to the pavement, and passengers stuck to leather seats. Blades of browning grass drooped their shoulders in exhaustion, and trees hung their withered heads in defeat. Ice cream transitioned immediately to its liquid state as soon as it was removed from its preferred air-conditioned habitat. Parks were deserted, and lonely swings creaked sadly in a barely-noticed breeze that did nothing more than move curtains of heat to new locations. Parking lots shimmered and sweated in the fierce glare of the midday sun. Sleep was restless underneath soaked sheets, and fans proved ineffectual on sweat-dampened brows. The only place in the whole city that could boast life was the pool. It was filled from open to close with candy-colored inner tubes and heat-drenched children. Every morning, bags of ice spilled their freezing contents into the carefully-chlorinated water. But by afternoon, the pool was tepid, if not lukewarm. It made no difference to the raisin-fingered youths who spent their days in the pool; they reveled in the feeling of water spilling over their shoulders and tangling their hair. In the evening, swaddled in towels, they trundled home, watching as the fireflies performed a stunning ballet in the crackling grass.