What I remember best about that summer is the heat wave. It was around the time I signed my first serious publishing contract, back then I used to live on the edge of town, right by the woods. All I could see from my last floor window were a couple of shabby houses just like mine, a dusty asphalt road that connected to the highway and further on endless waves of green and silvery blue. The highway wasn’t visible but it was still ever present like a ghost, low hum of passing cars filling my small room. I’d sleep during the day, curtains shut tight, and in the evening I’d go walk in the woods or swim in the lake to cool down. I could only work at night when the heat subsided a bit. Windows open, the air still and clear, the whole town asleep but me.