I don't want to complain about the warm weather. After all, New York City relies on the sun to clear away the snow, a habit I find less than charming.
However, the sudden rise in temperature has reminded me of two things:
1. When you don't pay for heat, you can't control it. Thus, my apartment is currently like the bloomin' Sahara. I am a dried-out husk of myself. The heat was on full force when I came home last night, forcing me to open all of the windows nice and wide, which only helped a little.
2. Warm weather + open windows = Oh, that's right. New York stinks. It's that Essence de Gross (I've actually had the New York Dolls' "Trash" stuck in my head all morning as a result). I love this city and all its madness, but sweet Mary Mother of God.
It's all making me very twitchy. Slushy gray puddles, dirty trash-festooned snowbanks, and the reek of millions of people's garbage. And I'm pretty sure they all piled it under my window last night.
On the bright side, a few more days of the heat at full blast and my nose will be too dry to smell anything anyway.
No comments:
Post a Comment