Summertime in New York landed hard and flat on its feet this weekend, boiling out the late lingering doldrums of winter and flooding flea markets, outdoor bars and rooftops across the city with that sudden signature change of mood that comes in with an enlivening heat, reminding you of all the horizon-less options available to anyone with two feet and a sense of adventure in the city, the feeling of photosynthesis burning through closed eyelids pointed directly up and into the light. Already feels like a good one in the works.
Getting a feeling I’ll be listenting to a lot of Little Joy this summer. It’s front-stoop night time humidity independent rock. Try it for yourself, why don’t you.
Inverted Soapbox 
Summer also means more crime. Stay outta Bed-Stuy, cracka.
Summer does in fact mean more crime. When I was a reporter at The Diamondback in College Park, Md., I predicted two crimes waves simply by reading weather forecasts. No joke. I also predicted a murder as well.
I was basically like that guy in “Early Edition,” which is sadly no longer on TV.
Also, I think you predicted several crime waves that did not occur. I remember you sitting around the newsroom saying “I feel it. Something big is coming. I’m getting that feeling again.”
Then the biggest news the next day would be Brayman showing up to council meetings drunk. And then you ate a spoon full of ProBoil and we put that shit to bed