WeekenderTop Story - July 2023
In dry summers like this one, Manhattan is disgusting. Dog piss bakes on tarmac, human shit blooms rank in the dark corners of subway stations. The new grass in every park, pampered by spring rain, is trampled under careless feet and picnic blankets until it’s nothing more than powder. In the country, no rain means fire, or crop loss, or sometimes just the disappointment of a wilting garden. In the city, it’s the death of human civility.