Harold staggered step by ragged step. The sun burned down upon his bald, bare head. The sweat dribbled down his back and face and chest splashing onto the ground. How much farther could he go? He desperately needed water but couldn't find any. Thirsty! So thirsty! His throat was raw and his tongue felt like one of his wife's overcooked, shriveled around the edges chicken breasts. Oh, what he wouldn't give for a tall, cold, sparkling clear glass of water with frosty ice cubes floating lazily inside. He tried to smack his crusty, dried lips but they wouldn't budge. Water! I need water! His mind cried out since his voice had long since ceased to work.
Must keep moving. He willed his legs to move one step at a time. Just have to keep going. There has to be some water soon. Where could it be? He squinted, straining his sun-dried eyes out in the distance. All he could see was the heat shimmering off the ground. So hot! Maybe I can use my shirt to cover my head. Maybe that will keep me cooler. Harold reached down to pull his shirt up over his head. It was half way there when an arm grabbed him.
“Harold. Stop right there.” Martha pulled his arm back down. “For heavens sake. What do you think you're doing?”
“It's hot woman. I'm dying!” Harold whined.
“Seriously?! It's only 80 degrees.” Martha shook her head. “I think you'll survive.
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