Hey! How was your summer?!
Good! How was yours?
This week The Thrill staff welcomes you back to our glorious, digital publication by reliving summer 2019’s low moments because nothing unifies this campus like the love of Kenyon our mother and shared trauma.
The crosswalk sign at Greenwich and Harrison in TriBeCa is warped. It was melted from a blazing fire. To quote the words of Ms. Thee Stallion, “hot girl summer so you know she got it lit.”
Honestly, my summer was fine; nevertheless, I did have some days in which the world around me felt like a hellscape.
The day was July 3rd 2019, when I began my typical day interning at an arts non-profit. I ascended the five flights of stairs to the office. I tipped my hat at the dead cockroaches I passed on the 3rd floor landing. I breathed in the smell of the gas pipe and some dank weed emanating from the 4th floor. I thought to myself, the non-profit sector sure is glamourous.
I settled into my desk to make some infographics and use Adobe Illustrator like its the Sims—staring at the screen for 7 hours until the computer over heats, my hands cramp, and the grim reaper comes—and began my day.
The day seemed to be passing ordinarily, until a car honk began to sound outside. Unperturbed by the concrete jungle outside my window, and because, I guess, I’m a slave to the grind, I continued to stare blindly at my Turing machine like the bot intern I was.
Finally, the car honk’s blare started to irritate me, so I stuck it to the Man and glanced out the window. Plumes of black smoke filled the air, causing me to exclaim loudly.
My co-workers and I ran to the window to see a taxi burning like that time the red woman from Game of Thrones, who looks like a hot young thang, but is really an elderly witch, burns the little girl with gray scale (topical reference, I know).
This fiery cab threw us into a conspiracy frenzy. The drama. The passion. Dinner and a show, baby. No work. No rules. Gangs of New York. Y2K. Foul play, probably.
Just to be clear, no one was hurt and the firefighters responded very quickly, but this possible arson did make me questions the might of the human race, the power of system, the investment in a taxi medallion and ever riding in a Pruis again.
Tan lines may fade but burned, vehicle carcasses are forever.