Heat Wave

Could I possibly have been so brash as to suggest a few weeks prior that New York was hot? Those words that appeared in black and white on my flickering iBook screen to then later be broadcast to the world via the Internet, did they come from my deftly moving fingers?

How dare I be so bold in my assessment? Back then, back in the breezy afternoons of late June, I did not know the meaning of hot. Late June is a refreshing sip of luke-warm mint tea. Mid-July, however, Mid-July is hot coffee being dumped on your skin from all angles.

Mid-July is heat that seeps in through your ears and clouds your brain so you can’t remember where you’re going or what time you’re supposed to be there or why the hell are you outside anyhow when you could be inside an air-conditioned building.

Mid-July is jumping into the first train that arrives at the platform because the thick heat in the subway station has become beyond unbearable, and hoping that it takes you somewhere near where you live.

Mid-July is ducking into the shop on every corner, be it a toy store, a hardware store or a porn shop, it doesn't matter as long as you can feel the air conditioning on your skin for just a brief heavenly moment.

Mid-July is watching the kids on the street take a break from dancing in the cool spray of an unscrewed fire hydrant to crowd the Mr. Softee ice cream van.

I can’t wait for mid-August.