It was a hot, muggy day. In my second floor apartment, I lay back on my couch and downed my third cold beer in four great gulps. I was, hot, and cranky, and acutely aware of the bead of sweat making its way down the deep valley between my C-cup breasts. Even in my cropped white tee, worn without a bra, and pink high-waisted mini-skirt, I was dying of heat.
This heat wave had already lasted for a week straight, and showed no signs of letting up anytime soon. I prayed for rain as I looked out the window, at the cruelly blue sky—not a cloud, not even a single speck of white to be seen. I sighed and closed my eyes. I wished I hadn’t spent so much money partying last weekend, so I could spring for an air conditioning unit. Or at least a fan, I thought, idly.
A fan.
That was exactly what I needed. I almost trembled with excitement as I pictured myself standing in front of the machine, the breeze hitting my face and caressing my curves. Yes, I thought. Fuck it, this is why Visas were invented.