This is what the heat and sweat does to the skin in a car with leather seating even when the windows are rolled down but you're stuck in traffic. Prrrrrrr. When the back is now finely imprinted with the map of the seat that you were slumped against and you move slowly tearing yourself away from the seat to mutter with added effort 'Uuugghh the heat!'. Prrrrrrr. When the sweat trickles from your forehead and collects in pools in the grooves of your collarbones, or it snakes down your ample cleavage and soon a wet spot appears where the black halter top meets skin.
You catch him laughing as you contort your face into cranky and then pouty, irritable and then some. What happened, chocopuffs? Why are you making faces? Before you can even catch your breath to think of the sun-dried words, form coherent sentences and begin to explain that the heat makes you cranky, the yellow cab and its driver is proving to be annoying with the music blaring and before you can dissolve away somewhere anywhere, a mash of sweat and angst, Foooooooooo! Not in the sound but in the shape of his lips as the draft of soft breeze-a mouthful of air- finds your neck.