Worth the Drip

Nothing is quite as revolting as summer in New York. Odors that, any other season, are merely pungent, take on a whole new level of eye-watering, throat-clenching, stomach-wrenching stench. Body parts that, any other season, are pretty well-covered, are displayed in a parade of gelatinous decrepitude. At times the scene at street level is unbearable, but it’s nothing compared to the subterranean.
If it’s not the dismal abyss of armpits, many hirsute and dripping, revealed when humid hands grasp the pole above, it’s the array of toes, many unkempt and dirty, exposed below. Any rider with a sensitive stomach and an innate sense of propriety would be well advised to either learn to blur his vision at will (I perfected this technique many years ago, long before I ever rode the subway or even knew what the subway was) or to bring along a snapshot of a puppy on which to focus for the duration of the ride.
Then, once above ground, the only way to quell any residual nausea or emotional trauma, is to have this:

Water ice (coconut and mango)
To make it extra-special fun and add a spring to your step that was no doubt squashed, along with your spirit, below ground, make sure it matches your outfit, like mine did. Eventually you’ll learn how to manage the drips in order to coordinate each flavor to its corresponding colored clothing component. I almost ruined it for myself yesterday by dripping the mango on my white pants, but fortunately I’ve got the reflexes of a sinuous cheetah and thus avoided disaster.
Oh, and in case you’re wondering how much it costs to regain your cool? One dollar.