The humidity is dense and impenetrable. A moist blistering force undermines this city’s spirit.
On the street, people struggle to stay conscious in this staggering fire of late August. Like a city trapped in a huge plastic bag, even breathing becomes an effort. A warm stickiness seeps into all things. The granite stones begin to sweat. Yes, even the cobblestones begin to bleed the perspiration of summer. Late 80’s, my first New York City summer.
Heat and humidity give all things weight. All things are immobilized by the oppressive hand of some invisible senseless burden.