Gray. Muggy.
Fugly, even.
June in Philadelphia.
I'd just spent twelve days on the Voyage of the Damned--that is, a trip through Central Europe with a bunch of angry, elderly church choir members from the western suburbs of Philadelphia. In other words, middle class people from Lansdale who never leave Lansdale. Not even to go to the Jersey Shore. Which, ultimately, is fine when you're in Lansdale, but they don't make for very enjoyable travelling companions.
I don't think I've heard the word "sue" so often in my life. One woman wanted to sue our hotel in Salzberg for a hailstorm.
In Prague, I was illiterate. Venice, Salzburg, Vienna, those were fine--I can muddle my way through the Romance and Germanic languages; Slavic is a whole other story.
If I sound weary, that's the jet lag. Or I'm just a pretentious ass. I'm willing to consider both options.
No matter. This is a post of little consequence. Only that I'm having trouble adjusting to the change of weather here in Philly. When I left, the temperatures would barely climb into the fifties; now, they're often jumping up into the ninties.
I'm happy to be home. I never thought I'd be happy to see this dirty, depressing town, but I am.