This weekend weather has been relentlessly dull. Grey clouds, constant drizzle, and oh so hot. I dragged my sweaty ass out of the apartment, nonetheless and enjoyed myself (gasp). The subway stations in the summer time are arguably the most uncomfortable place in the city. It feels like you’re in a sauna, only the lovely smelling oils are replaced with piss and garbage. Going down into that sewage heat cellar after the gym is by far the worst. All I can think is why nobody around me is sweating. What the fuck kind of pores are these people sporting? I mean, I’m drenched in sweat trying not to touch anything and begging the universe to make my train appear like 5 minutes ago and the people next to me are just chilling on their phones. No sweat. Not even one drop. I don’t get it. It’s not just hot, it’s steaming. By the time I get onto the train I’m one sweat drop away from looking like I just stepped out of the shower. Continue reading “Heat. Goals. Snap Chat.”
Funk Meets A Lady 