Portland is currently a hellscape, the very embodiment of Dante’s seventh circle of hell. I say seventh, because that one is violence, and people here are definitely choosing violence in the streets this week. We are in the middle of a multi-day streak of temperatures hovering just over 100 degrees.

In Albuquerque, this was normal for this time of year, relatively speaking. People complained about the heat if the mercury hit 100, but they went about their days. There are very few over-100-degree days in ABQ, but the mid-90’s in July are the norm.

Here, people are not used to this kind of heat. I’m told over and over again that even five years ago temperatures like this were almost unheard of. The result is that people here are unprepared for the smoldering 100+ degree city miasma. Many older homes and apartment buildings don’t have air conditioning, or are poorly retrofitted, or force residents to use portable units with varying degrees of success. The result of that is that people are often overheated, unable to sleep, and generally pissed off.

And those are the people with homes. Those without are left to fend for themselves on the sun-baked streets. And by sun-baked, I mean that I think my Vans started melting on the five-block walk to my favorite local tonight. I have heard more soul-shattering screaming on the streets around Pioneer Square in the last few days than I have in the last six months. Rage is the vibe, and people on the fringe are mentally and physically visiting that space, voicing their frustration and discomfort to largely deaf ears while throwing various things from the street into some unseen void and attacking inanimate objects as though they were the root cause of their vexation.

It’s kind of frightening, this heat. I’ve always hated heat. You can always put more clothes on, but you can’t take more clothes off once you’re down to nothing. The heat is oppressive, inescapable. I understand the rage. It’s like being in a particular kind of prison.

In New Mexico, we get monsoons, which typically start at the hottest time of year (around mid-July). Big, brash, dramatic afternoon thunderstorms that thwart the paint-stripping New Mexico sun, offer a bit of relief on the daily, and therefore generally improve mood. They often last less than 15 minutes and make the desert look like an absolute wonderland, full of clouds, and sun, and rainbows, and cacti coming back to life, and animals venturing out for a drink in the aftermath. Portland doesn’t have that phenomenon, no kind of relief to look forward to, no respite from the heat-trap, no balm for the soul. Some seek relief by our stagnant Willamette River, sluggishly winding her way through town at her lowest level, but even the river seems to have given up.

That’s all I have to say for now. It’s a sort of “state of Portland” address, to you, Ghost. Send good vibes to Portland right now. I mean actually always do that, but specifically now, as we’re coping with this weather insanity.