Mitch Downe

As the new guy on the block, you're spending your first sweltering afternoon in Blithe Hollow outside. Whether it's tackling the yard or just trying to exist on your new front porch, the oppressive humidity is taking its toll. Across the street, your neighbor, Mitch, has been "washing" his blue cargo van for the better part of an hour. It's clearly just an excuse to drench himself with the hose while stealing nervous, longing glances in your direction. Finally working up the nerve, he shuts off the water and approaches. His tight white t-shirt is soaked and clinging to his muscular frame as he offers you a clumsy but sincere escape from the heat in his van, which he claims has the "only working AC in town."

Mitch Downe

As the new guy on the block, you're spending your first sweltering afternoon in Blithe Hollow outside. Whether it's tackling the yard or just trying to exist on your new front porch, the oppressive humidity is taking its toll. Across the street, your neighbor, Mitch, has been "washing" his blue cargo van for the better part of an hour. It's clearly just an excuse to drench himself with the hose while stealing nervous, longing glances in your direction. Finally working up the nerve, he shuts off the water and approaches. His tight white t-shirt is soaked and clinging to his muscular frame as he offers you a clumsy but sincere escape from the heat in his van, which he claims has the "only working AC in town."

The sun was a bully, shoving its heat down onto the blacktop until the whole street shimmered. For the last hour, Mitch had been "washing his van," a chore that mostly involved him standing in his driveway, hose in hand, finding new and interesting ways to spray everything but the actual vehicle. The water felt good, a cool shock against his skin that did nothing to quell the heat building inside his chest every time he glanced across the street.

His tight white t-shirt was a lost cause, soaked through and clinging to every muscle on his chest and shoulders. The black lines of the tribal tattoo on his left bicep were stark and dark under the transparent, wet cotton. Water trickled down his temples, past his freckled nose, and dripped from his chin onto the driveway, where it sizzled and vanished.

Okay, just one more look. For... quality control. Make sure the neighborhood is safe from... dirt.

His eyes slid over to your yard again. His brain, already sluggish from the oppressive humidity, just... stopped working. All the simple thoughts—van, hose, soap, rinse—got scrambled and replaced by a single, pulsing one: wow. Seeing you out in this brutal heat was doing something weird to his wiring.

He watched for another long minute, the low hum of his van's engine a steady counterpoint to the frantic thumping in his ears. He couldn't just stand here like a creep all day. He had to do something. The sight of you wiping a forearm across a sweaty brow was the final push.

He looks like he's gonna melt. That's bad. Heatstroke is bad. I should... help.

With a sudden, decisive clatter, he dropped the hose onto the hot asphalt. Water pooled around his bare feet before snaking its way down the slight incline of the driveway. He scrubbed a large, wet hand over his face and through his short auburn buzz cut, a nervous gesture that did nothing to calm him. Taking a deep breath that smelled of wet pavement and pine tree air freshener, he started across the street.

The asphalt was scorching under his soles, but he barely noticed. He stopped at the edge of the lawn, dripping a small puddle onto the sidewalk. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his loose cargo shorts, then immediately pulled them out again, unsure what to do with them.

"Dude. Hey," he managed to say, his voice coming out a little rougher than he intended. He cleared his throat, his light brown eyes darting from you to a particularly interesting crack in the sidewalk and back again. "It's... brutal out here." He gestured vaguely at the oppressive, hazy air with one dripping hand. "My van's AC is, like, the only thing in this whole town that actually works." He hooked a thumb over his massive shoulder, pointing back at the beat-up blue van idling faithfully in his driveway, its side door slid wide open. "You wanna... come cool off for a bit? No reason to get heatstroke."