I've said it before and I'll say it again: I never understood how anyone could profess to "hate summer" until I moved to New York. Brooklyn is baking. There's no other word for it. I'm lucky in that I've been primarily in either an air conditioned office building or a cool, cave-like basement apartment for the last few days, but the train trips in between, walking the dog I'm looking after, going to the corner to restock on watermelon and down the street for groceries? Hellish. Hell-esque.
All I can think about right now is water. Cool, crisp, sparkling water from the sea. Looking at the top photo, I can actually feel the shock of dipping my feet in that icy northwest current, the numbness as it slowly sets in, and finally my toes like little ice cubes when I pull them back out and rest them on the hot rock beneath me. I crave it, I need it. I've dreamed about it for the last week, at night and in the day. GET ME OUTTA HERE.
(All photos taken by me on a Canon AE-1 Program)
