. . . but somebody check the heat index on this place. Sweatin' as I type and got nuthin' more than a cold shower and a sweaty bed to look forward to. But the job is goin' and tomorrow we're fixin' to BBQ us up some fiery goodness on the unholy patch of ground we call South Beach. (Here's a hint. . . it ain't exactly like the South Beach that Miami is famous for. There ain't no women and the men have all been puttin' in fourteen hour days for two weeks now ('cept me cause I dunn gone and enjoyed me a weekend in PHX.).)
Seriously. . . sweat drippin' from my eyelids as I type this. No a/c on the ship and gotta sleep with my cabin room door open to try and catch the breeze. Good thing nobody minds a naky-fat white guy on a tiny bed these days.
Yeah! Try to sleep tonight with that thought rattlin' around up there!
Not really sure why I do what I do. . . but then again there's probably a good reason up there that's just close to incineration and is hiding till cooler weather prevails.