I wish I could take a photo that would capture how incredibly uncomfortable it has been.

I was warned about the brutality of Australian summer, not that I paid any attention.
When it became clear we were moving to Brisbane, every Australian I know seemed to take relish in the opportunity to regale me with tales of the heat! The humidity! Melting and woe!

I shrugged it off. I figured I’ve felt heat, I’ve felt humidity. All with the added bonuses of a million a/c units pumping more heat onto the sidewalk, endless streams of traffic belching grit and exhaust into the already impossibly heavy atmosphere, and the special misery that is standing around with the stench of piss (not urine, PISS) in the soupy-thick air while waiting on a subway platform mid-summer.

While it’s true that I have experienced the range of misery provided by a New York summer, I see now that I knew nothing, NOTHING about summer in the tropics.

Internet, I beg you, tell me it ends soon.