August in Augusta feels much like the inside of an oven. If a swamp was inside the oven. If the 12,600 degree core of the Earth were inside that swamp. And if the hot chocolate I burn my tongue on every December were poured on top of that smoldering core.
Finding people to photograph braving the heat regularly proves difficult. The "heat feature" is the cross us photojournalists bear every summer. Surprisingly, heat is breaking news just about every week.
I finally spotted these girls sweating under the shade of a tree in a playground yesterday.
These images couldn't run in the paper, so I thought I'd post them here.
(i'm not a huge fan of the image above, but the expression on the one face pretty much summed up my feelings.)