New York City, July 15, 2013

★★★★ Dirty water flowed in the gutter, getting cleaner on the approach to its headwaters, a man hosing down the sidewalk. Six or eight identically tanned legs crossed the street in a group. A furniture delivery crew and apartment doormen still wore long trousers, but everywhere else was surrender, or license passing as surrender. Up Lafayette came another pair of legs, elderly ones, newly exposed in their ivory pallor, perfectly matching their white canvas sneakers. Enter real, hot summer, something to complain about, to plead helpless and naked exigency before. A deliveryman could wash his vest in the water feature outside the apartment building’s doors. The rot and fatigue had not had time to set in yet; here were Hell’s blazes without Hell’s eternity — a poem for the Hell-tourist. To be honest, it was still fine in the shade. Even the sun was agreeable, for a while, after the air conditioning. It could be worse, and it would be worse, and that was kind of exciting.