It’s torrid here in the city. 95 degrees Fahrenheit – heat index reaching 100. The tall, closely packed buildings trap the heat in the canyons beneath them. The power sources underground, that keep the subways running, heat up the paved sidewalks and the asphalt gutters (we call the gutters “streets””Don’t run into the street!”). High heels get stuck in the melting tar. Breathing is downright dangerous the longer the heat lasts. Exhaust from cars and buses just lingers in a miasma of gaseous petroleum.
Me? I’ve cabbed it up to my appearance near Yankee stadium in the Bronx – no subway for me this day. Bare-legged, jacketless, an iced coffee from the news stand in the lobby – if this goes fast, it’ll be painless. My turn. The other guy is here. I feel for him, long sleeved shirt, tie, jacket. How do they do it? Men in the heat? So far, so good. Everything is on time, no complications, and I’m back downtown in my own A/C’d home/office by 12:20.
For the out of towners reading this – I promise you- as a rule, people do not walk shirtless in NYC – I guess Orlando Bloom is an exception. But- if you check out more photos on line- you’ll see that passers-by aren’t noticing him much. He freely enjoys NYC that day and others- doing what New Yorkers do- taking his kid to the park, walking his dog, grabbing a coffee.
So I was thinking, Maybe New York is just the right place within which Richard Armitage can blend in, lose himself, have a life. Settle here, Mr. Armitage. New Yorkers will leave you alone. Unless you walk down the street shirtless- then, well all bets are off.