| The walk from my door to the subway is a short three blocks. This morning, before I had gone even one of those blocks, I was already wishing I had left my jacket at home. Nevertheless, I persevered. After another block, I looked down the length of 7th Avenue. "Funny," I thought to myself. "Why's it so...hazy down there?" A strange thick fog was obscuring anything more than a few blocks away. I tried rubbing my eyes, thinking that perhaps my contacts were a little fuzzy or there was some leftover sleepy obscuring my vision. Nope. Still hazy. Suddenly, it hit me. Heat. Haze. What is the third "H" in the New Yorker triumvirate of summer weather? Heat. Haze. And Humidity. Humidity so thick, one cannot make a move without sheets of liquid pouring down one's forehead, collecting at the base of one's spine. The kind of heat and humidity where just sitting on the Klaus seems strenuous. Reflecting back from miles of glaring asphalt, being released from towers of concrete and brick. Gushing upwards from subway vents all over the city, wilting. Languorous. Thick. Slow. After a lovely...two entire weeks? in Springtime, the New York Summer is almost upon us, people. Fear it. |
