70 degrees and rising

The garbage only gets worse. It dives down the sidewalks like filthy birds, crash landing and falling to pieces, bursting like feather-bombs, greasing the concrete. The subways stink of rotting rats and piss. The summer is almost here again – people are running around in sports shorts, looking like they actually mean it. People are scrambling for lovers in corners of bars and bookstores, sweating in the mosh-pits, sunbathing in the parks, biking in the streets, the cats are moaning in heat like fog-horns, and Manhattan is buzzing like a honeycomb on the delta of the Hudson River.