tell me when you want to leave

that male cat urination smell sinks into the foundation of the house, irreversible, the heat only perpetuating the horror. i don't have a fan in my room, although there's a box at the top of the stairs that says "9 inch personal fan" and every time i'm walking up those steep stairs i think, "i'm your biggest fan". it might be occupied by that very object. i've never checked.

...

now, hours later, i'm schweating from too many bodies packed on a small dance floor. this room/that place is oppressive. i might just unpack the ancient fan; blow some perspective onto this situation. lord knows that's fully needed.