The Hamlet Project

I am sitting in a wooden bench and table café
In front of a plate glass window.
I’m sitting on a school style stool – like from
Chemistry lab or something. I’m leaning
Into the brick wall next to me, trying to hide from the sun.
It’s September and in the 80s
And the glass acts like a magnifying glass
Baking my arms and face.
I have to wear sunglasses to look at the whiteness of the page.
I am trying to remember what it is like to be cold.
There’s something about a brittleness of the skin,
Lips cracked with dryness.
I can remember teeth chattering,
A mist emerging from me every time I speak,
A vague bouncing up and down,
Hands rubbing together
Every bit of skin exposed feels raw and beaten.
I think.
Right now – I don’t want to touch one arm to the other
For fear of combustion.