Paraphrasing

Weekends are when I give in to the 33 degrees Celsius heat, but throughout the workweek, the
anxiety of missing impending deadlines keeps me scouring Singapore's streets. I lay flat on my
sofa and gaze at the lush, cold trees outside while trying to learn telekinesis so I can summon
the bottle of ice water in the refrigerator to me without needing to stand. I favor using low-tech
methods of cooling off since they made Indian summers as a youngster more than bearable—in
fact, they were tremendously pleasurable.

James Deering and Ryan Angus, two young rock climbers, were impaled on a high ledge. When
the fog suddenly came in, they were climbing in the rugged slopes. The sun was already setting
by the time it was six o'clock in the evening, and the world was turning purple and completely
dark. Dearing and Angus maintained their composure. They must have been eager to flee in the
pitch-blackness even though they knew they had fifteen hours of subfreezing weather ahead of
them. The first thing they did correctly was that.

I turned to look at the crowd that had followed me at that very time. A minimum of 2,000 people
were present, and the number was increasing rapidly. Long stretches on either side of the road
were blocked by it. I turned to look at the sea of yellow faces that were visible above the colorful
attire. These faces were all cheerful and eager about this amusing experience, and they were all
confident that the elephant would be shot. They were observing me like they would have
watched a magician getting ready to do a trick. Although they did not like me, they did give me a
brief period of interest when I had the miraculous rifle in my hands. And then it dawned on me
that I really should have shot the elephant. I had to fulfill the expectations of the onlookers who
anticipated it of me. I could sense the many wills pushing me forward forcefully.