. . . The weekend dawned hot and still, the sun suddenly near and pregnant with fire through the glassy blue air. It was September in Southern CaSfomia. The "unusual weather" that struck every year at this time had arrived. Over the plains a thousand miles to the east a mammoth high pressmre squatted like an octopus and sent its tentacles of scorching air groping for the Padfic, holding back the faithful sea breezes so the earth could sear. The mountain rocks baked and the weedy hills of the back country lay brown and tinder dry, ready for the fire sirens and headlines. In the suburbs, and the small towns that bordered on them, flowers drooped and lawns turned hard and britde. And in downtown San Diego—well, you could look forward to tonight's paper carrying the gag picture of the leggy girl in shorts trying to fry an egg on the sidewalk. Everywhere animals hunted shade ana lay panting, and the wild ones crept closer to civilization, hunting water. Tlie heat touched the people too, turning some of them a htde wild.
What do You think about Kitten With A Whip (1959)?
