It was 102 degrees yesterday, the hottest day in New York City in 9 years. Today is cooler. It only feels like it’s 98, and I’m ever so thankful my landlord installed my AC last night. I still slept in the nude, on my blankets with that baby blasting, and let me tell you, it was sweet sleep.
Making dinner last night in the kitchen, where there’s no A/C, sweat poured continuously off my forehead, dripping from my chin and nose, and the hair on my brow sopped. Tonight, I‘ll eat dinner in my room.
On the way home from work, while biking along Myrtle Avenue, children had busted the caps off of fire hydrants, like they do in those famous scenes from the movies. They were collecting the water in buckets as it ran along the curb to the sewer. Dozens of children, parents and teenagers watched as they doused cars, running back and forth barechested, without shoes.
A man in a gold Chrysler Sebring convertible was waiting behind some cars that had slowed down. There were about three cars halted in each lane, taking turns going through the car wash. One boy threw a bucket of water into his convertible. There was general merriment at this, I bet he sure did get wet, sitting in his car, he probably wanted that. The man put up his the hood of his car.
The children, knowing that time was running out, flocked to his car, throwing bucket after bucket, before the roof could close. The man, exasperated, floored it and screeched away amid the general “Oooo’s.” He had been punked.