Forty-Second Street is hell at the best of times. Oppressive to the point of being offensive, packed to the gills with clueless tourists and rushing business types, garish, loud. Forty-Second Street sucks. And in 95-degree heat, it's worse. In the heat, it's like nails in your skull, and it'll drive you insane.
That is, unless you can make it to Bryant Park, where the noise level drops to an acceptable muted hum, and the fountain and the grass provide a little respite from the heat radiating off the pavement, and the free high-speed wireless Internet access allows you to sit in the grass and check your email and post to your website. Like I'm doing right now.
