MAURO GIA SAMONTE
‘TIS said that August is the wettest month of the year, and the first two weeks of the month did wit-ness rain pouring for days on end. Yet August, for all its wetness, has had a way of causing me ennui normally experienced and characteristic of summer, when the dry, humid air seems to rivet in your senses a fit of unease or uncertainty over something you just wouldn’t know.