Benny, the dog, likes to go on a mid-day walk even though it’s too hot and he often has to run for shade to keep his paws from burning. He also seeks out any air-conditioned space, which is how we often end up in the Coach Outlet, where the employees know him and encourage his enjoyment of their cool marble floor. Weather, being a common topic of small talk among strangers, comes up inevitably: because it’s easy; because the dog is so hot; because since 2023, the heat has been relentless.

A pair of red kitten-heeled flip-flops was on the clearance shelf and I asked about my size, passing the time while Benny cooled down. I have a soft spot for red shoes, and I feel compelled to buy things on occasions when the workers are so kind to the dog. “No, they’re sending me boots and jackets now, even though it doesn’t get cold here,” said the sales associate. It’s been hotter this October than it was in August, we agree; we mention that even December barely brings hope of a cool evening breeze. Seasons are part of tropical life even if you wouldn’t know it as a traveler, and I’ve felt them disappear in the six years I’ve been in San Juan. They’ve vanished, slipped our grip.

I don’t know how terrifying it is to the more casual observer, the person just trying to get through life. I pontificate for a living, trying to bring the things we mindlessly accept into focus for those with less time on their hands, who don’t make work out of conversation with strangers. When I read Ariel Samandj writing about Mauritius, I think, Someone else gets it. Lauren Markham on Greece, She gets it. When I read Solvej Balle’s series On the Calculation of Volume, She gets it.