Heat like this comes in waves.
The people on the streets look wrung out. Strangers snarl at each other on public transportation. Islands of garbage rot in the sun. It’s really best to stay at home and lose your pants.
If your apartment’s larger than a studio (lucky you), you might have two window air conditioners. One of them becomes your iron lung. The other stays off until you’re forced to change rooms. You’re afraid to run them at the same time. That sort of thing could blow a fuse, especially if you live in Brooklyn. Or it could be the final switching on that leads to a citywide blackout.
When you live in NYC, you don’t hang out at your friends’ apartments very much – you’ll never even know the exact address of most of them. But of the friends you visit, you’ll notice who has the best air conditioning. How could you not?
This is the friend you’re most likely to hook up with one random summer night. There will be ice cream and tank tops and you won’t stickily pull away when his or her leg brushes yours.
It’ll be so on. Mostly, I mean the air conditioner.
If you don’t find yourself on some once platonic couch in July, if you’re dating someone, the quest for climate control could end your relationship. The person with a ceiling fan always has a gross bathroom or roommates or both. The apartment with the better air conditioning’s in a building with hallways that smell like feet. Or you know, it’s the apartment of your friend you hooked up with last summer, the one who maybe should’ve just stayed your friend.
Whatever you do, it’s hot. It can’t get cool enough – not alone or with someone else. If you had the time to sit at the movies all day, you would. But there are people who already beat you to it. So it’s crowded and smelly and hot there, too. There’s really nothing better to do than whatever you’ve been doing. And anyway, it’ll pass.