Outside the air conditioned cocoon where I have confined myself today, temperatures topped 90˚ F. I can’t stand the heat. New York gets miserable when it’s hot. Heat is soaked up and stored by concrete and asphalt; exhaust from cars is trapped by buildings. People begin to get angrier and the summer sets in. More arguments break out in public and more arguments turn into fistfights and shootings. For people who hate the heat, the summer is miserable in New York City.
What keep New Yorkers sane are two things: getting out of the city occasionally and seeing attracted people of the opposite sex (or the same sex if you’re so inclined) in less clothing. For me, Breast Season starts sometime in May and is in full swing by the end of June. It’s difficult not to be caught starting at plump mammaries that are begging for your attention on the subways, streets, office buildings, restaurants and beaches every year. I have no doubt that at least 60% of sunglasses purchases by males during the summer months are motivated by the desire to breast watch with discretion.
So if we must put up with the shorter tempters, humid air and skin cancer, let’s at least celebrate the improved view.
