I think the temperature reached a hundred and seven.
My textnovel story reached its hundred seventh entry.
My hundred seventh ice cube's melting in the water.
And my brain's turning to warm and gooey mush.
Still, many thanks Minnette for an enjoyable, cool!, afternoon at Powell's, with coffee and books and good company, wise advice and air conditioning. What more could I want?
(AC at home? A hundred and seven fans? Another ice cube please. And what's that dripping noise...)