The world outside is eerily quiet. A gigantic bank of cloud towering over the houses opposite is the colour of fresh bruising and looming ominously. The usual city-scape down the hill is hidden under a haze of clammy smog.
All the houses have their blinds and shutters closed against the heat - soon people will be opening the windows back up for the evening, welcoming the cooler air in and allowing the football cheers out.
The heat radiating off the usually respectable pavements here smells a bit vomitty for some reason.
Oh - there’s some life! A neighbour wheeling his bin out front. He’s pouring with sweat. The bin probably reeks to high heaven like mine does, food scraps simmered gently by the heatwave.