Summer Disquiet

Em comes around for a cup of tea this afternoon - a break from the festivities of the Brunswick festival (I can still hear the sounds of music from across Western Road. That and the sounds of squalling seagulls). Em leaves to meet up with her siblings again, to go to Waitrose to buy things for dinner. I must leave here in quarter of an hour to her place.
I left Em on the corner at the bottom of my road, and set off, disquieted into the late August streets. My earlier desire for a walk had been eroded somewhat, but thought it would be better to get some fresh air rather than return to the stale light and air of the bedsit.
I walked past Andy's flat in Cromwell Road, called in at the Tescos round the corner to him. A pack of Doritos, a chocolate croissant and a can of Coke. Headed over the railway line, across the covered footbridge, and into those Wilbury Crescent streets that still linger on in my memory. Summer felt too old and disturbing, the sunlight too bright and feverish. My body felt clammy and heavy. Watching the dappled sunlight through the Wilbury trees I remember thinking that this weekend - and the next - are the most uneasy of all the summer weekends. Like a coach journey that has gone on too long through a hot day with no air conditioning. The last hour of the journey becomes increasingly unbearable.
After I had come back home, I had a shower - using the last of my shampoo - and read the story 'The Frolic' by Thomas Ligotti with a cup of tea.
I must prepare to leave the bedsit to walk over to Em's house.
I am full of tiredness and an odd superstitious air.