Hot town, summer in the city Back of my neck getting dirty and gritty

Hot town, summer in the city Back of my neck getting dirty and gritty
Nothing beats New York City summers: Levis’ cut offs. Tank tops. Hot asphalt. Baseball caps. Dirty feet in flip-flops. BBQs. Rooftop sunsets. Sweaty sex. Kickball in Prospect Park. Vodka lemonades sipped coolly on the terrace. Margaritas to-go. Watching Do The Right Thing and Kids 987 times, just to get in the spirit of things. Pool parties. Block parties. Free concerts. Old movies in Bryant Park. The Hamptons. Mister Softee. Weekend camping trips upstate. Coney Island: funnel cake, the Cyclone, and Nathan’s hot dogs. So please. For the love of our city, for the love of our summer, and for the enjoyment of all: if you can’t stand the heat, get out the effing kitchen! I don’t want to hear you gripe about “oppressive heat,” “outrageous A/C bills,” or “disgusting humidity.” Just leave. No one’s gonna miss you.