It’s mid-January in New York City and my apartment, building and seemingly the rest of my neighborhood is infested with mosquitoes. It’s jacket and hat weather outside and I’m sleeping with a mosquito net over my bed so I can manage some sleep and escape the relentless dive-bomb buzzing of my ears. Still, they seem to find ways to get at me anyway, as my constant itching attests.

Nearly every evening, I find myself doing a apartment wide bug hunting expedition. Swatter in hand, I scan the walls of my apartment, squinting for a glimpse of the blood-sucking fuckers. I hate them. I bring death to them at every opportunity.

After over five years of living in the city, this is the first time I’ve ever seen a mosquito in winter, much less a fricking plague of them. I’m at a loss to explain why I’m getting molested by these fucking parasites when it’s thirty degrees outside. I kill them, but more appear. I see them in my building’s hallway. I hear people on the street complaining about them. Perhaps it’s the construction going on in my area. Maybe it’s global warming. Blood-sucking aliens from Uranus? Whatever the cause, it’s disturbing and highly annoying. I can only hope that is winter is a single exception to the norm.

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