Some days during the summer can be gross, with the heat and humidity bearing down on you with force, making your arms and forehead dripping and salty. There is some relief, though, when you take a handful of ice and drop it onto your head, or splash your face and the back of your neck with icy water. Of course, when you run across the street to the big-ass (for Manhattan) Barnes&Noble bookstore to use their restroom you catch a chill once your sweaty hide comes flush with the powerfully air-conditioned climate.
But, this past Saturday was worse.
It was cold. Not really cold, but cold enough to still shock your system because it hasn't been that cold yet; it was in the mid-thirties. Boo-hoo, you might say. The wind was going as well, with a general 20 to 30 mph baseline with regular gusts into the 40s, and an occasional shove that felt much higher. That combination, while lame, is able to be dealt with. The wind cuts at your skin, but it's not so cold (like February) that it feels like cold glass shards on exposed skin.
But, this past Saturday it was raining. Or maybe the verb is slushing. Mostly it was rain coming down, but for a while it was like clear slurpee was falling from the sky. From a distance it kinda looked like snow. But walking through it, trudging through it, getting people's dairy for them in the exposed outness, showed you the truth.
After three-and-a-half years the weather still mystifies and amazes me.
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