Shifting, pushing, bathing in the heat of the day. Temperatures had risen to 110F, and I felt as if I was swimming in the humidity. I could not concentrate on my hands, holding up various bits of furniture; each piece weighed a ton, and my hands were becoming slick.
One foot in front of the other I paced, stair by stair, step by step. My legs burned. The air burned. My mind burned. The world was on fire, and the respite of my apartment was only too brief as I pushed items against the wall before venturing out again.
These, my dear friends, are the reasons we don't move from one apartment to another in the middle of the summer. These, my friends, are the reasons we live on the first floor, and not the third.
Mistress Rowan Community Member 
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