It's getting hot in here.

The city is boiling over.

You know the feeling. You put the pasta on to boil in a smaller-than-recommended pot. You wander out of the kitchen for two minutes to send an email, change the music, or answer the phone. And then you hear it--that sizzling, popping sound of the frothy water overcoming the sides of the pot, splashing down and frying into a huge mess on your stovetop. You run to catch it, but by the time you've heard the sound, it's too late. Your quick pasta dinner has turned into a mess. You'll spend 20 minutes just cleaning up the stove.

It's not yet noon and New York City is 90 degrees. Back in Kansas, a 90 degree day in August was almost a blessing. But here, everything is paved. My walk to work takes about 20-25 minutes and is about 25 blocks, which is about 1.25 miles. By NYC standards, I have a very easy commute, because I don't have to use public transportation. In the course of that mile walk, I pass exactly zero blades of grass. There are no parks or grassy medians. I suppose there are trees, but trees along 9th Avenue are bedraggled stick figures which provide no shade.

Everything here is covered in concrete, asphalt, and buildings. Put a couple million people on top of that surface and the city literally begins to cook them. Being on the streets of Manhattan in August means getting sautéed with all the homeless, tourists, bridge and tunnel jackasses, and poor souls like me who can't afford to get out of town during the stinky season. It quickly becomes a vile stew full of vicious glances, sharp elbows, and angry growls. It's nothing short of a miracle that people aren't brawling in the street.

I'm heading out to get a salad for lunch. I'll do my best not to throw my cell phone at someone's head!