Stations of the Cross on the A Train, Part One

Hot town, summer in the city / Back of my neck getting burnt and gritty… goes the ode by The Lovin’ Spoonful, a radio staple at this time of year, its fevered melody symptomatic of the swelter it evokes: All around, people looking half dead / Walking on the sidewalk, hotter than a match head…

And that’s just the state of things above ground.

Go below it, though, in New York City no less, and only a dirge will do: the grit reaches body parts far less exposed than the neck, the people look fully dead, and the hot putrid wind of every passing train fans the flames of an urban inferno that should, but doesn’t, constitute punishment enough for one’s many sins. [Read more…]