by Jeremy Warach
The cold air spilled out of the open refrigerator and flowed over the young man's toes. It felt good. He stood in his bathrobe, holding the refrigerator door and trying to decide what to take out for breakfast. He nodded, grabbed the milk carton, and shut the refrigerator, then opened the carton and took a whiff, just to make sure it was still good. He turned and put the carton on the counter, then reached in his cabinet for a bowl and the cold cereal.
The day was already hot. His small, one bedroom apartment in the city had no air conditioner, and his old and clunky window fan had broken a few days earlier, so he had no choice but to bear the heat. Standing at his kitchen counter, he looked into his cramped living room. The threadbare couch sat a little bit lopsidedly on the floor, one side higher than the other. Several feet away, a small television rested on a low bookshelf which was stuffed with paperbacks. A card table and folding chair stood by the window. Several papers were scattered on top of the table, and they rustled in the breeze which he could just barely feel coming in through the window.
