here there's a high level of aggro at all times but it gets a bit worse in the summer. we're three weeks into relentless heat and humidity that hardly drops at night, it's the most it's affected me, i've become an indoors person coz it's by default hot and sweaty every time you're outside of AC. people are on a bit of a shorter fuse. but it's like that anyway all the time.
there's always a lot of seriously mentally ill people about in nyc as well. it's a distinguishing feature of the us in general. i don't know if it's any worse in the summer. yesterday though i was in a coffee shop i work in downtown and i saw through the window someone roll up on a liberated citibike and steal a bit of watermelon from some ladies selling watermelon slices on the street. then half an hour later heightened people started coming into the coffee shop asking to use the bathroom to wash blood off their hands, coz someone (i think one of the seriously ill people who are about) got hit by a car on the same corner. i looked over my shoulder and there was a crowd of people standing over someone on the floor. the ambulance came and after they got him away they hosed the blood off the street. last week someone walked into that coffee shop with their dick hanging out. but this stuff is basically normal really.
i like that coffee shop coz it's in chinatown and right in the thick of things. it's the same reason i like downtown nyc as well. everyone is there. a lot of brooklyn and queens is more chill and basically nicer places to be. they're both pretty segregated in that very american way. neighborhoods tend to have two or three types of people in them. downtown is like a shatter zone which contains everyone. the other day five 18 year oldish chinese looking girls done up for insta came into the coffee shop and did a photoshoot on the chairs, doing poses and all of that.
there's a binding together of affect that happens with weather. everyone going through the same thing.
love these kind of descriptions! scorching nyc! it reminded me a bit of this poem even though it is about philedelphia and not nyc:
Watermelon City”, a
poem by Elizabeth Alexander,
Philadelphia is burning and water-
melon is all that can cool it,
so there they are, spiked
atop a row of metal poles,
rolling on and off pickup trucks,
the fruit that grows longest,
the fruit with a curly tail, the cool fruit
larger than a large baby, wide
as the widest green behind, wide
vermilion smile at the sizzling metropole.
Did I see this yesterday? Did I dream
this last night? The city is burning,
is burning for real.
When I first moved here I lived two streets over
from Osage, where it happened, twelve streets down.
I asked my neighbors, who described
the smell of smoke and flesh,
the city on fire for real.
How far could you see the flames?
How long could you smell the smoke?
Osage is narrow, narrow
like a movie set: urban eastern seaboard,
the tidy of people who work very hard for very little.
Life lived on the porch,
the amphitheater street.
I live here, 4937 Hazel Avenue, West Philly.
Hello, Adam and Ukee,
the boys on that block
who guarded my car, and me.
They called him Ukee because
as a baby he looked
like a eucalyptus leaf.
Hello, holy rollers
who plug in their amps,
blow out the power in the building,
preach to the street from the stoop.
Hello, crack-head next-door neighbor
who raps on my door after midnight
needing money for baby formula,
she says, and the woman
who runs in the street
with her titties out, wailing.
Hello, street. Hello, ladies
who sweep their front porches each morning.
In downtown Philadelphia
there are many lovely restaurants,
reasonably priced.
Chocolate, lemon ice,
and hand-filled cannolis
in South Philly.
Around the corner
at the New Africa Lounge
in West Philadelphia
we sweat buckets
to hi-life and zouk,
we burn.