Sun-drenched

"A sun-drenched week, with temperatures between 30 and 35 degrees," purred the beatific voice from the radio presenting the weather forecast. "No doubt she sits every day in an air-conditioned studio," moaned Tom, the sweat pouring off him.

The day, which began with them sharing an idyllic breakfast on the sun-drenched terrace, was to end in disaster.

Today is the 14th of January of 2025. It was night at Time Hortons café. I ate Sea Salt Potato Wedges with Wildberry Hibiscus Lemonade Quencher. Joban the South Asian was my vendor. In the morning, I had a couple or more cups of Green Tea with Oat Milk, which, someone expressed, "tastes like ice cream." It was night at Starbucks café. I ate two Belgian Liège Waffles. The Brown Sugar Oat Cortado interestingly tasted like jackfruit. I was going to tell the Japanese-Anglo hybrid Chris the barista or Jess the Anglo barista. Money is just an inhibitor, sometimes. Money is poverty, sometimes. Life should always be sensual, a sensory wonderland. Life is ephemeral, full of fleeting experiences. Do I believe in the Akashic Records, the memory compendium about everything? The following day of the 15th, I saw Hans the Netherlander in his motorized wheelchair at Tim Hortons. We sat near the sun-drenched bay window, as we chatted and ate Sea Salt Potato Wedges. I was drinking Orange Pekoe tea with Oat Milk for a change.

Sun-drenched beaches are vacation destinations for sunbathers no matter where the beaches are.

Ahead of them were two sun-drenched (all going well) weeks of lazing on the beach.