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The fan, set on high, pierced her with what seemed to becool air. The fact was, however, that she was sticky with sweat; her long, darkbrown hair clung feverishly to her forehead in curls that were not usuallythere. It was an unusually warm day, even for June. Naminay despised the heat, and inan effort to cool down her basement suite, all of the windows were open. Herblack cat, Samantha, lay in a lazy heap on the mattress in the corner of theroom. Namflopped onto the couch with a Diet Pepsi and turned on the television. She hadrecently graduated from college and quit her job at Starbucks. She didn'treally fit in there anyway-- she hated having to keep her makeup to a minimumin an effort to be just another corporate clone that slaved for the rich. For a few minutes, the 22-year-old flipped distractedly through the channels,searching for anything to occupy her mind. She needed to think of somethingother than the heat. Finally she jumped off the couch, licking her lips which were swollen from theheat. She tore off her white tank top and her baggy black pants and threw themin the corner, leaving only a lacy black D-sized bra, black boy-styled briefs,and a cross-laden silver necklace in their stead.
