"Scientists call Manhattan 'an urban heat island,' and it feels that way too, shimmering and expanding during the long, sweltering days. Street smells ripen, sidewalks bulge with tree roots, and birdsong turns to bird-roar over the rising pleas of the ice-cream truck. The sun is a mad conductor, whipping his metropolitan orchestra into a din that pummels every sense. Everything gets louder, closer, brighter."
Maeve Higgins, Maeve in America
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