It's been a busy freaking day, and also the hottest in years. Really. Record-breaking heat.

We had three potential renters come over this morning, starting at 9:30am. Two were referrals from friends, and the third answered our ad on Craig's List. All three seemed to like it, all three took applications. Unfortunately, I was interrupted with the last person (let's call him "the dentist"), because Alex called to tell me that he was stuck by the side of the freeway in Denver, wearing a wool suit.

Yeah, that one begs for an explanation. This morning was the funeral for our friend Gene, who died last week. Gene and Alex used to race together, they were incredibly well-matched in terms of their abilities. Gene was a sweet kid, and Alex was like a big brother to him. Since we had already lined up several prospective tenants, and since it's so unbelievably important that we get the house rented, I stayed behind to do the showings and Alex went to the funeral. Being the nice, well-mannered, cultured boy that he is, he went in his only black suit, a lightweight Italian wool. He looked lovely, and I was so proud of him for being so respectful toward our friend's family by looking appropriate when he went to grieve with them (unlike some of his fellow racers who thought it was somehow completely appropriate to go to a graveside ceremony in A T-SHIRT AND SHORTS. Are you fucking kidding me?).

So, he's headed home from the funeral, on the freeway back from Denver, and the truck dies. Just completely stops. It'll turn over, but won't catch. He's stuck on the side of the freeway, in 104° weather, with no power in the truck (and so no A/C), and I'm about 40 minutes away and occupied with trying to rent out our house.

Anyhow, long story short, the truck made it home, then died again on the way to the dealership, got towed, and now appears to need a new power train control module (oooh, scary). Alex says the whole thing with the truck is just our friend Gene, messing with him one last time.