July 03, 2002 | 11:26 AM

Heat rises off the city streets in moist clouds like steam from a hot dog cart.

People are mean on the sidewalk. Lumbering, sweat stained, perpetually scowling, wiping their brows. Extracting their shorts from the cracks in their asses. Flabby white skin turning pink as a carnation.

It gives people something to discuss, this heat. In elevators. On park benches. Waiting in line at 7-11.

Can it get any worse than this?

The air is thick with consternation and failure and it smells of rotting garbage and Raid Bug spray.

I work 12 hours a day. It seems I always do when pregnant. I arrive home gasping for air, body rung of hydration like a dishrag in the sun. I drink seven glasses of water and then throw up.

Two days until termination.

Can it get any worse than this?

Apparently, it sure as shit can.