Photo by myself this weekend of a shingled summer house by the shore, in Greenport, Long Island.
Greenport is a small town on the northern fork of Long Island. Montauk is located at the very end of the southern fork.
New York is currently experiencing an early heat wave. It's been hot and humid in the 90's. From first thing in the morning to late at night, it's been uncomfortably hot. All you hear outside is the hum of air conditioning.
I feel bad for the guys who wear suits to work. Mark is lucky to wear long shorts, short sleeved shirts and sneakers. 'Dressed up' for him means and untucked, button down shirt.
There aren't tons of suits in my neighborhood, but I see them on the subway and on the platform, standing uncomfortably still.
They look like short-haired pointers in the field - unwavering and anxious, trying to catch the breeze generated by passing trains and pedestrians. The platforms are oppressively hot nowadays, though not nearly as bad as they will be a month from now.
Yes, and the stations have begun to reek. Portions of stairways and streets smell of human urine or garbage, depending on the breeze and time of day. It's just all too close, too hot, too humid. And it's not even officially summer yet.
Tonight was very, very hot and humid, as Mark and I sauntered home from dinner. It felt like we were trailing behind a bus, or any other large piece of machinery. Once again, I had eaten too much, and I was being led by my distended tummy as we walked leisurely down the slope that Park Slope is known for.
It was all we could do to keep our thoughts cool and pleasant. Only yesterday, we were walking along farm stands, two city slickers picking out pints of freshly picked strawberries. And now here we were, stumbling along the hot asphalt, home.
Related posts: Montauk, The End