Midsummer Night's Magic in Manhattan
Summer in the city, how do I loathe thee? Let me count the ways: The fetid, funky stench of days-old, sun-roasted garbage wafting down the avenues. The oppressive, relentless, inescapable heat that turns on a tap of sweat, melting make up in one block, soaking through shirts in two … New Yorkers’ already short tempers, further truncated by 90+ degree temperatures that feel more like triple digits, flaring at the most minor of infractions … the urine-infused, sauna-eque subway platforms … sharing the sidewalk with frolicking rats and roaches … the cute but clueless polyglot tourists around each and every bend, blocking the way as they marvel at the sights that no longer move us, that we barely still notice… Calgon, take me away! Every summer I experience the same impulse: to get the hell out of Dodge. Immediately. Permanently. Forever. And never, ever, ever come back. Leave for points north, west, east, or be...