New York City in the summertime is something else. When it reaches a certain level of heat and humidity the streets become unbearable - at least for most North Americans used to a certain level of hygiene and personal space. But then at some point it goes beyond that and it becomes something almost sublime. Nearly medieval. Like an exquisitely designed torture. Those who have achieved a certain level of economic comfort spend the bulk of their days buffered by air conditioning and food delivery. Those in a higher tier can escape the city altogether. But those who make their living outdoors  (or live there full time) are reduced to some primal version of themselves. A lot of them seem to have surrendered fully to the elements. The air feels almost too thick to move through. I saw a woman sitting in full sun unprotected on a sidewalk when across the street there was shade. I had the urge to lift her up and place her there, as if she was a misplaced object. Or empty my bottle of water over her head like some kind of empathetic baptism. But of course I did nothing. Torpor pervades everything along with the humidity and artificial  blasts of air-conditioner exhaust and the vapors of hot garbage. Even the pigeons seem irritable. Those who can escape do. Those who can't suffer and endure.