It’s 7:30 and I am still at my goddam desk (as are a handful of other editors), trying to get the damned September issue closed (like I can still “edit” after an 11-hour day with no lunch break!). They turned the a/c off at 6:00. It’s, like, 96º out (I am not kidding, it really is, like, 96º out). The top editors, of course, drifted out around 6-ish.
Not only pissed-off about getting home (the busses only run about once an hour this time of night), but we are fast running out of air. I have fashioned a crude oxygen mask out of a wire hanger and some Etienne Aigner pumps. If you don’t hear from me again, “I died in the name of copy-editing . . .”
[ * gasp gasp * ]