Thwap.

When living here, I become slightly barely more thick skinned to the grossness, muck and stink of the city.

Today's 90 degree weather meant a few things. It meant that cross street breezes, which typically are pleasant, are offering a barrage of scents that will destroy your olfactory nerves for the next 25 years. It meant that the dog urine, once thought quaint by NY standards because the dog who did the deed was so adorable, is now a waft of hot stench rising to your nose like a sledgehammer to the face.

Likewise the urine in the subway is only drowned out by the thought of the moisture accumulating betwixt my legs. Every effort is made to enter the station at the very last minute because the slightest movement opens up the floodgates of crotchular perspiration that I can imagine is only rivaled by the Cave of The Winds Tour at Niagara.

But forget all of that for a second. Get it out of your mind. Cleanse your mind and walk down the street towards the decadent air conditioning. You hear the whirring and blowing of other air conditioners in the window above. Until you hear "THWAP!", and realize that someone's grimy, slimy, unattended for a year air conditioner has just unloaded it's compressed spoils in a single huge drop all over your head.

Fuck, I hate that the most.

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