... and then, there's a different feeling. One that I recognize from occasional summers in Virginia, and New York, and anywhere that's not LA that has humidity: it's drippy, gooey, uncontrollable swamp-ass. Bad.
Balls of musty, mugwort-y sweat drip through me and into the nether-region of the throne and are eaten by the ether, like all of Jabba's foes that were fed to the Rancor before Luke. I look at my girlfriend. She is uncomfortable. "I'm dripping from everywhere," she says, as I see the beads of sweat that have collected on her face, and all of a sudden I realize that I'm feeling kind of all over the place.