Hot Time, Summer in the City
By Rob Rosen
I’d been lounging on my sofa, reading the latest Danielle Steele epic, sipping an oh-so-sweet, frigid-cold iced tea, when suddenly I heard the dreaded sound: clunk, clunk, clunk-a-dee-clunk, followed by an ominous hissssssss—which sounded much like a herd of buffalo coming to a screeching, surprised halt. Or so I surmised.
You see, my air-conditioning unit, that great, big monstrosity that hung precariously ten stories above the teaming masses, had, without warning, up and died.
My heart, when it realized what had just happened, went clunk-a-dee-clunk as well.
“No, no. Not now,” I shouted at the cold, lifeless beast. “It’s August in New York. Are you insane, dying now? Are you trying to take me with you? I’m sorry I didn’t pay more attention t
