Cheap metal wall behind Gabriel's iron working shop in Gowanus.
Torture in a cement oven is one way I can describe NYC summers over the past ten years, but there's also been strange, wet summers too, like this one, where the heat gives up for weeks at a time. Not much happens work-wise in the city during summers; collectively we seem to let go of our ambition for a while and head to beaches or up to the lakes and woods of New England. Summer here invites reflection in a way I've not experienced elsewhere--then again, no where else on Earth have I experienced the incredible dedication to work as I have in New York. Perhaps its that relative difference that registers in absence.
Looking for a loss of signal is one way to find a hole. The other is just to fall into it.