I wasn't ready for NYC heat. Toxic. My sweat glands were unemployed in Atlanta. This heat scared them into overdrive, they were eager to get paid. Their first day on the job; proving sufficient. Zero movement on the subway platform to keep them at bay, preventing a back soaking and unprompted peek-a-boo with the pedestrian behind me. 120 degrees. I chanted a rhythmic prayer to the wind gods for a breeze from a passing train. The trains were late, my glands were excited. The heat was visible. Rare heat--heat with many levels. Worse near a manhole or bus, a slight reprieve passing an open door. It gave me its definition when I walked down the subway stairs, each step provided a new adjective. Beads rolled down my back, beads rolled into my pants, beads soaked through my clothing. I never felt them overtake my underwear--I hadn't worn them that day. Naive and ill-equipped. The train arrived too late. Sitting would bind the sweat with my pants as if resting on damp cloth. I hovered under a vent to cool--the beads stood resilient; trickling down my leg to host a party in my crotch. Swamp Ass made a room for itself in my genital area as I prayed for a water into wine moment for my privates. My body temperature continued its incline and Swamp Ass expanded its border. My crotch dark brown, my pants Khaki; wearing a quintessential diaper of sweat. I formed an ill thought out plan like I did when I wet my pants in first grade. I shuffled back to my office with a volunteer in front, and a volunteer behind, blocking both areas of saturation. The hour-long subway ride had made me late. He called me in his office for a closed-door meeting where I sat praying that some of my sweat would wear off in his visitor’s chair. My prayer was answered for the first time that day. Resilience.