Requiem in Blue
Laurent Aguillard wiped the sweat off his brow with one hand and led his daughter gently along with the other, silently cursing the sun of the South Pacific. Somehow, in spite of the abundance of trees, the two could never seem to stay in the shade. “Wear a hat,” they’d said. “Make sure you use SPF 60,” they’d said. “It isn’t really always sunny,” they’d said. They were jackasses, and their advice did nothing to keep the heat from seething off the ocean, steeping in his skin, and whisking away the last reserves of his patience and goodwill. He vowed never to take vacation recommendations from Baptiste again; the guy was nice enough, but...fuck nice, this was too damn hot.
