Plus, heartbreakingly brilliant Cats: the Jellicle Ball, summer reads and Taylor Swift’s low-key wedding
I’ve been in New York for two weeks, where the unthinkable has happened: even for a city accustomed to extremes, it is so hot, so humid, so reminiscent of Mobile, Alabama, or Mumbai, that all over the city, New Yorkers have been forced to break persona to talk about the weather. “Was it always like this?” (No.) “Can you believe this?” (No.) “Are you having a stroke?” (Possibly.)
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