Ode to New York City Summers

Even though your humid skies sag like wet diapers, I love you, New York City summertime. Thick, lukewarm air spits through the fan in my uptown apartment, mocking the archaic mechanism. Existence alone is cause for perspiration. Lady Liberty exemplifies the obstinate disregard for sweat that we New Yorkers must adopt.

I believe your subways are more conducive to men in heavy wool business suits than urban farmers in cutoffs and tank tops; they blast sterile bursts of cold air through loud AC systems and force me into the fetal position. (Although I must admit, your icy embrace has prevented me from waking up in the Bronx or Queens on several occasions.)

Girls have never been prettier than they are when they are walking down your streets in August drinking 40s in coffee cups.

Your expansiveness is overwhelming. Your opportunities are so numerous that they inspire guilt in those who fail to take full advantage of them.

Your summers illuminate little-known details that would be hastily ignored in meaner weather.

There's nothing like drinking a cold, locally-brewed beer on your Red Hook roof deck, New York. It can be a mystical experience.

View of you from Governor's Island:

View of you from Queens:

View of you from inside:

You're beautiful, New York City, no buts about it!

The reason I love you the most, though, is because you are a grown-up playground that brings friends together.