Swamps of Pavement

Oliver and Peter are security guards at the National Museum and Archives.  This story was inspired by the phrase that became the title, found at the WriYe DreamWidth


Oliver made his way down the street.  The summer was hot and sticky.  A part of him couldn’t wait for the seasons to turn and fall to come.  He loved the autumn, when there was a crisp freshness in the air and the leaves began to turn to red and gold.  However, he knew that the summer would have to end before the fall would arrive.

For now, he would have to put up with the heat that rose from the pavement in waves.  For now, there would be the hot stickiness that made him want to take off his jacket and loosen his cravat.  Even the plants growing along the margins of the walkways did little to cool the air.  Rather than the cool forest that the city planners intended, it seemed to Oliver that it was a hot, sticky swamp with paving stones in place of a river.

“I hate summer,” he murmured as he reached the entrance of the museum.  He sighed when Peter pointed out that he hated winter just as much – complained about it just as bitterly.  “I prefer the fall,” Oliver said, shrugging, “or the spring.”

“Around here,” Peter said, shaking his head and chuckling, “fall lasts about two weeks and spring is over in a day.”


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