Invasive smells on the subway. Open fire hydrants all over Brooklyn. People laying in the park. Air conditioners layered all over the sky, dripping questionable water on the streets below. Strollers with fans aimed at pale babies. Random thunderstorms preceded by flash flood warnings that blare through our iPhones all at once. Pointless fans in restaurant basements that do nothing but stir stale, humid air. Flying cockroaches. Dimmer lights and struggling window units. People fanning themselves throughout their 8 course tasting. Sungold tomatoes. Summer squash. Watermelon with fluke crudo. Almost fainting on the Williamsburg bridge because my helmet is an oven. Hasidic women wearing the same damn thing they wear every other season and somehow still surviving. A baseball cap on me. Frozen pina coladas in the kitchen. Frozen daiquiris. Frozen rose, or "Frose". Movies in the park. Seizures on the sidewalk. Eggplant. Riding our bikes through freezing fire hydrant water and screaming. Running through them on purpose, drunk at 3am. "This is why rich people go to the Hamptons for the summer." Cats with their bellies outstretched and vulnerable. Everything is sticky. People become grumpy and agitated at everything about it. Shoes stay sandy for weeks after that one time we went to the beach. Business owners fly away while the rest of us stay inside, worshipping at the altar of the almighty air-conditioner which, quite frankly, isn't fucking cutting it anymore. Our deity gives up on us. And all that's left of the mess are sweaty zombies, too groggy to admit that maybe they created this for themselves.