Amber Carta

Whatever We Are

The night was chilly, much cooler than it should’ve been for the time of year. There was no point in trying to predict weather patterns anymore, though. The explosion had seen to that. Most days were either hotter than hot, or colder than cold. The rain made your flesh itch and humidity upset your lungs. You had to breathe through your mouth on windy days; no man could bear the stench that rode on the breeze.