Coming up for air is hard to do when said air is so bloody hot.
You find it odd that that is the first thing you think of when you do finally succeed in coming up for air--the whole idea that coming up for air is hard to do etc. etc. hot. But you come up for air and breathe it in and wonder just what time it is to make the air so hot in the first place. You don't have time to wonder however because there are more important things to wonder about--such as the boxcar.
The boxcar had grown an appendage back when it was cold and rainy out and not so bloody hot. It had grown an appendage that stretched out toward your apartment complex and it grew and grew and grew until it stretched over a long portion of the tracks, trapping you inside your apartment complex. So what to do in such a situation where you are trapped inside your apartment complex? Well you buckle down and climb over the damn thing.
So you approach the boxcar and its massive appendage and sniff at it. You hoist yourself up onto the nearest flatcar and realize just how dirty it is and wonder where it might have come from. Only a moment later you tumble awkwardly over the other side, landing brilliantly on your knees and scrambling away before the boxcar and its massive appendage can react. Wash, rinse, repeat.
Only, the boxcar and its massive appendage isn't going anywhere. It sits with its enormous girth on the train tracks trapping you in your apartment complex before awkwardly tumbling over it for weeks and weeks--until it gets tired. And by getting tired it begins to change things.
The chain link fence allowing you to tumble awkwardly over to the other side of the boxcar and its massive appendage suddenly closes up like a holey wound. Instead of climbing over the train you decide to simply walk around it, following the train tracks until you find a bit of woods to travel through. And you do.
Until the boxcar and its massive appendage then sends the trees toppling over in the middle of the night blocking your route through the wood before you discover a more efficient path through the wood that doesn't involve vaulting over trees or tumbling awkwardly. Life goes on in such a manner until one day it doesn't.
It doesn't and you find yourself coming up for air that is so bloody hot. Crawling out of the dirt between the tracks of the railroad you realize in wonder that the boxcar has somehow sloughed off its massive appendage, leaving it a siamese boxcar instead. How curious. The fence is still closed up and the trees are still knocked over but at least you have that efficient path through the wood and no need for awkwardly tumbling or even touching the siamese boxcar anymore. Although you did notice as you stumbled wearily toward your apartment complex that there is a large white bag inside one of its two boxcars and it looks quite full.
But first, a good bath would be nice.