There are so many full-grown trees in the backyard of this house that the resulting shade keeps things pleasantly cool inside. I’m able to keep the back door open almost all day long to let in a breeze, and if Chuck isn’t downstairs reading Schopenhauer he’s sitting in the sun just outside on the deck. He’ll lounge here for hours up until he’s panting and almost dead from heat exhaustion. I’ll pull him away and he only reluctantly comes with me. It’s his death, and he’ll die if he wants to WOMAN.