Cool cat, looking for a kitty

Take a look at this hot mess:

There’s no heat like midtown Manhattan heat. The glass skyscrapers reflect the sunlight down onto the sidewalk and cook your ass. Underground, the air conditioned subways suck all the hot air out of the cars, expel it into the stations and back out onto the street. If you walk over a sidewalk grate as a train is pulling into a station, you'll be treated to a blast of hot air up your pant leg (or skirt). Add generous gulps of bus and taxi exhaust and, dammit, you feel alive. On my lunch hour, I’m going to Central Park to watch the carriage horses pass out onto 59th Street.

The only remedy is this…

An option not available to poor, working class stiffs like your humble author.

*     *     *

It’s summer intern season here at the financial institution I work at. I love the summer interns. They’re so bright and enthusiastic. They radiate life and youth. Up to this point, their whole world has been the vacuum of academia. They have zero real-world experience. Perhaps a summer job here or there, but nothing relevant. We were showing off a certain piece of software's more efficient properties to one eager, red suspendered, young buck and he excitedly said, “That is so money!” He used “money” as an adjective. It made my molars grind but I didn’t say anything. He could end up being my boss one day.

There’s a specific type of young gun who makes it through the vetting process and is selected to intern. They’re excellent students from top-tier schools who, for the most part, have never heard the word “no.” They've never suffered a broken heart. And I'm not talking about a twee, adolescent, Hallmark greeting card college romance. (True! Love! Always!) I mean an adult haymaker, like a divorce or wayward spouse. They’ve never experienced a significant personal or professional setback. Life’s been grand! I’m cordial but I don’t say much to them. I wouldn’t want to spoil any of the surprises that are just around the corner.