Ninety degrees outside, and it had been ninety degrees outside every single day. rswfire started the recording with the number, because the number was the condition. Inside the rig he had built a differential of fifteen to seventeen degrees and he could name it by zone: seventy-three where he sat, seventy-five toward the living area, seventy-seven in the bathroom. The cab, out past the curtains, sat at ninety with the rest of the world. He pointed the camera at what he had done — Reflectix on all the windows, the panel that had made the biggest difference, ten degrees pulled out of the interior by silver and adhesive. Reflectors on the sides, a piece over the main window. None of it perfectly sealed. Light came through, and where light came through, heat followed. He knew this by watching the seams.
The night before, he had put up a new panel over a stretch of wall near the slide. He explained why by touch: there was metal behind it, and in the afternoons, when the sun came around to that side, you could bake an egg on it. He had tested it with his hand. That was the method throughout — degrees read off a display where there was a display, and where there wasn't, skin against surface, the body as the instrument. Bailey moved through the frame while he talked, insistent, and rswfire broke off mid-sentence to address him. This cat is killing me. What do you want. Then back to the accounting.
The stack was running at full draw. The air conditioner never kicked off. The dehumidifier held humidity at fifty percent and needed draining two to three times a day, even the big one he had bought. Rain was forecast for later; he didn't know whether it would cool anything down, and tomorrow the forecast said ninety again. He wondered aloud whether this was preparation for Nevada, where he would be traveling off-season, and turned the question into a list of forward moves — a reflective roof coating he had read about, something that might reject half the heat, and a conversation to have with the camper place about whether they could apply it. He would go outside and look at the area where the heat was coming in and see whether there was anything he could do there.
Then he named the cost of the fix. All the windows carried reflectors. The interior was sealed and dark and cool, and he said it plainly: it felt like living in a dungeon, and it had been depressing him that day. He stated that this was what he had been getting away from — his house had felt like a dungeon — and he stated that he could understand his feelings right now, that this was not how he wanted to live. He set the recognition down as information rather than complaint and moved directly to what followed from it. His next site started on the 30th and had a tree with shade, though he wasn't sure it was enough. There were two sites here in the woods. Under tree cover, Starlink would not work.
He weighed it out loud and landed on shade. Sacrifice the internet, keep the rig cool, hold that arrangement through the summer until he and Bailey could leave for Nevada. Keep doing what he could do in the meantime.
Almost as an aside, he checked a different count. He had been curious how long it had been since he smoked a cigarette. June 8th was the last night; June 9th was the day. Smoke free since then, he said — minus the vape, which was always in his hands. He called it progress and let it stand without correction. Bailey had settled below him by then, having found a spot. rswfire asked him if he was having fun in there, if it was a nice spot, and spent the rest of the recording trying to put clothes away with a needy cat underfoot, at seventy-three degrees, behind silver panels, ninety outside and holding.