These days are inexorably hot, leaving room for nothing further than my own discomfort. No thoughts. No movement. No further desires past a cool room and a jug of water, a shower or four.
A grouping of American and Italian flags, four in total, wave heavily in the thick wind, their buoyant enthusiasm having abandoned them months ago. Gutters of gray and muddied papier-mache await rainfall or a broom – trash that is the result of negligence and cultural differences.
A street faire, even in the middle of its run, has the appearance of an abandoned carnival, the few people in attendance sticking to the geometric strips of shade attached to buildings. The streets are fenced off needlessly; tables and chairs in colors fit for a McDonald’s happy meal toy sit unused in the shadeless street. If tumbleweeds dared attempt to visit New York City during this extensive heat wave, they’d be rolling through about now.