I wake up shivering in the sudden cold of the night. I check the weather. The temperature has dropped overnight by 10 degrees C — just for the weekend, says the app. Very Floridian. I was in my shorts just yesterday. Now I pass by two polar bears on the walk back from the toilet. I still can’t sleep so I go to the kitchen.
The polar beasts reveal themselves to be the massive stove and fridge, white, large and American. The doors and windows, the hollow walls and false ceiling, are white, too. Sheets of ice.
Even the kettle is white. But I manage to reach its trigger with a stiff finger, like a barely alive polar expeditionist. Its coiled insides heat up the water, noisily breaking the arctic silence. I set some tea brewing.