When the sun shines its beams of arousal...
Suddenly, all the places you'd never dream of hooking up in become hotbeds for sexual encounters. A party in East Brooklyn at the brink of dawn? Yes. The backseat of a white Ford Bronco parked at the base of the Williamsburg Bridge? Sure! The last standing tenement building on the LES? Hell yeah!
Every purposely-dilapidated nouveau dive bar in Bushwick becomes a petri dish for the super-horny, in which it suddenly becomes OK to hang out off the Halsey stop in the early hours of the morning and pay $10 for a Bud/shot handed to you by a bartender who looks like he’s been kicked out of his tenth Fugazi cover band (“Waiting Room” is the only good song, anyway).
Alongside frequenting bars you’d never set foot inside during the winter, you’ll make terrible decisions to attend every event you’re invited to (which is not the Millennial mission statement) in the hopes of stumbling upon a potential hookup.
Be honest, would you say yes to your college roommate’s ex-step-sister’s DJ set if it was happening during the dead of winter? Why do you think Governors Ball happens during the height of summer? Try explaining the concept of the inane, hopelessly corporate festival to someone in the winter. You want me to go to an island for a week and see who?! Yes, OutKast will be there.