I open the door.  I must get this right.

Last week I came down with a fever.  In the beginning it was only 102 degrees or so, nothing approaching my record.  Still, I was sweating heavily.  The sheets wet.  The room muggy.  In the distance rain threatened, but so far over my house, nothing.

I went down to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door to cool off.  I stood there naked for a few minutes and then went back up to bed.

I was in someone else’s home, paying $150 a night.  One of the owner’s dogs had died and the remaining little dog was sad in the room.  He lay like a shoe at the foot of my bed.  I could hear him breathing and then I am sure my fever got worse because I began to imagine a movie made like a high fever and what a…