Sticky July You With Baby Powder

1. Add yourself, dazed and thirsty, to a shower and run underneath sixty-eight litres of cold water for seven minutes, or until the water runs clear, until your body is awake, even if your mind is not.
    Once sufficiently chilled, place yourself on the showermat and towel off all the lovely cold water that, already, begins to warm against the skin. Make a note of the time; this is as clean as you will feel all day.

2. Emerge from the showerroom at your leisure and wander about your apartment until there are many footprints going here & there, thick and pronounced at first and then slowly fading. It is imperative that you give your meat time to cool before cooking it. The curtains should be fully-closed, only a sliver of light around their edges, allowing one the opportunity to estimate the day’s weather. It will be hot. It is July. In the background, you might be able to hear your fan still focused diagonally across your mattress.

3. Heat a large intercity train (preferably nonstick) with a drizzle of suncream over a low heat. Once hot, add yourself, ideally next to a west-facing window, even if it requires you to squeeze next to a spread gentleman and the dull conversation he engages in with the lady opposite. They are both old school friends.
    The sound of the intercity train should be quite dull; if it is not, retrieve a copy of the New Yorker from your backpack and read an article on the president of Chile, Gabriel Boric, until the sound dulls itself away and one feels comfortable.

4. Meanwhile, trim, then cut away the shadows that might enshroud one’s route to the office. Deseed the traffic so that each vehicle is a blazing lung of exhaust (scrape the cyclists and scooters out with a teaspoon) and dodge your way through them. If others on the pavement become an irritant, do not let yourself overheat.

5. Add the chopped shadows to short stretches of your route, and cook for 8-10 minutes further, until a layer of perspiration begins to form at the base of your back. Take a moment to study, with silent awe, the perfect complexion and unflustered patrons of the café who gather around you. Once you are sufficiently agitated at the lack of any discernible breeze – no matter how slight – pour 16oz of cappuccino into your guts and give it a good mix.
    Trim, then slice the intense air conditioning of your office building’s lobby. If any cyclists join you in the lift, remove them with a spoon and place them into your compost bin.

6. Allow yourself time to enjoy the air-conditioned office – preferably 4-5 minutes, using a desk fan to bring yourself to the desired temperature. Wash your hands and rub a moistened papertowel across your brow until you are no longer glazed.
    Peel and finely chop (or grate) the office environment until it has softened and you can no longer remember how hot it is outside. Check the sunlight beyond the windows and marvel at its colours.
    In a small cigarette-break, combine the rolled tobacco, key fob, reflection of a steaming elevator and a generous pinch of pedestrians walking even slower than usual – this is your life for the next several hours.
7. While this is cooking, crack some bags of rubbish on the pavement and allow them to reduce until a thick glaze remains. Stir gently with sandals, brogues and tyres, being careful not to break it up too much. Once the glaze is emitting a horrendous smell and is sticky to the touch, walk away. This is your jus au rubbish.

8. In a separate pub at lunch with a lid, take a large bag of punters, wash them in the sink, pat dry, then add them to the smell of burning fat and unsalted fries. Sprinkle in a generous amount of white wine and cold beer, and cover. Be very careful at this point not to overdo it or dilute the punters excessively.

9. Chop the walk back to the station finely, including the train ticket.

10. Heat the intercity train over a high heat. Once hot and smoking, add all the above ingredients, including the jus au rubbish. Allow it to cook for thirty-five minutes. While this is happening, you can tidy up, make yourself a cup of tea or finish reading that article about Gabriel Boric.

11. Even though – or especially because – you’re eating alone, pick up some cold beer from the shop (time required in the fridge aisle will vary, so please check your appliance), and peel it as soon as you get home. This will be your side.
    Season to taste with a text to your loved one. If they reply with a photograph of them perspiring profusely, you can masturbate now or save half for later. Make sure the meat is not pink! If it is, cook a little longer until oil can be seen floating on the surface.

12. After showering, serve yourself onto the sofa in an ungraceful state of undress. Keep all limbs apart throughout. Check the temperature, and allow to cool while listening to Sketches of Spain. It may be too hot to eat or carry out any tasks or leisure activities that may require cognition. Take a handful of grapes from the fridge, and indulge in them, one by one, putting aside the stalks, and revelling as each ball of cold breaks and splashes over your teeth. If you do not have any grapes in the fridge, you may use plums or cherries, but do ensure they are cold.

13. Garnish the day with your underwear on the bedroom floor and your splayed nudity angled towards the fan. Any remaining sound from the whir of the motor should be enough to lullaby, as it meagerly cools your exhausted form. Place a slice of water in a glass tumbler on your nightstand. Finally, sprinkle baby powder over your joints and genitals. Serve warm and with all the windows open so that when the morning birdsong begins, it wakes you up.