And here I was confidently, ignorantly, believing that nobody gets stung by bees in New York. I thought the city was too harsh for them: the streets too busy, the concrete too hot, the fertile plants too nonexistent, and the people too fearless. I thought that the bees were a sensitive bunch. I thought they were dying off! I thought of all places, New York would be the worst for a bunch of bees choking on their own pollen. I thought that killer bee swarms were reserved for places like Japan, Africa, and Florida. Yet, again, I am wrong.

Just like the lustful dolphin story was a perfect welcome home in one way, this is a perfect welcome home in another way. It’s perfect in that this place is built to destroy me, and there’s no explanation for where the fuck these bees came from. It’s things like this that make me believe any and all New York urban legends. Alligators in the sewers? For sure. Giant king rats that eat mole people? You fuckin’ betcha. The big question for all of these urban legends is, “But where would these things have come from?” As I previously mentioned, this isn’t necessarily the prime real estate for bee families trying to settle down, but here they are anyway! So, as you can tell, this is a triple punch for me. Not only do we have bee swarms in New York City, but now by default we also have alligators and giant man eating rats. Welcome back to the concrete bunghole to me.

P.S. The only place in New York where the street would be cleared for this is Time Square. The tourists with their naivety and their optimism at making it out off this island unscathed would stand clear of the bee infested hot dog stand. Anywhere else and people are heads down, busting through the bee zone. Be late to work or die from having a bee swarm consume you? This is an easy choice for the working New Yorker.