It was exactly one billion degrees, at ten o'clock at night. The cicadas rattled so loudly, that I thought some huge electric plant must have gone awry, somewhere close by. Their harsh sex cries so loud that it seemed deathly silent. No soothing or cool rain fell from the sky. Instead the moisture straddled the air, like an obese, angry woman, sitting atop her lover, ready to smother him, with a pillow, after finding him with another. As I walked the distance between the front porch and the Mexican corner market, I had to wonder, if Christ had returned, and left us all behind.