Maybe it’s something in the air or the knowledge that the cold winter months are creeping closer, but there’s something intoxicating about those dripping dog days of summer in the city. Melting ice cream cones and people pressed up against one another, sweating and seething in the subway. Rooftop bars buzzing like beehives and spilling out honey hazed onto the streets, tumbling into taxis or the arms of lovers and strangers alike. That’s the thing about this city. She’s sweaty and sticky, filthy foul and cruel as can be. She’ll chew you up and spit you out without so much as a backwards glance; but somehow she wraps us up in her magic the minute we step off our trains and planes, out of busses and cabs. And we know then that wherever we are, some small part of us will beg to be here. Caught up in the heady whirl of bright lights and traffic noise, breathless over bagels and morning coffee and the daily promise of a new adventure that can only be found in New York City.