Hot! Fuck me! What month is it? No global warming? I'd like to see that. I wanted to put my arm over my face, as soon as I left the house, shielding my eyes from the burning morning sun, until I got under the verandas of Gertrude Street.
I always was a little precious with the heat. I mean, I'm fine if I'm in a singlet and shorts and have a beach in front of me. No problem, it can be as hot as it likes.
I caught a tram, I'm not walking in that heat.
There was a mighty fine stock broker jogging to work this morning, in short black running shorts. Great legs. He hardly broke a sweat.
A stocky Jewish Lawyer, with a black skull cap, hair-pinned into place, from one of the law firms below us, got in the lift and said, "Ah, I see you are very wise and have dressed appropriately for this kind of day."
I wasn't quite sure what he meant, as I was dressed in the same way I dressed every day.
He must have read my reaction across my face.
"It is too hot for a tie on a day like this."
But I never wear a tie to work. It's medieval. The company has got me shackled without, actually, putting a noose around my neck. It's always been my attitude to office wear. Suit, crisp shirt, good shoes. But nothing around my neck to prove it.
I don't know how they do it on a thirty eight degree day?
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