“I picture it like this—I’m strolling through Brooklyn on a summer afternoon. The streets are filled with people. And this is Williamsburg, so they’re all beautiful. Suddenly, the sky opens up. Everyone gets drenched. Wet clothes cling to toned bodies. Skin glistens. And here’s the best part: because no one came prepared with rain gear, I’m able to walk down a whole city block without once getting smacked in the face by an umbrella.”—Casey, East Williamsburg

“As a bearded barista pours my coffee, he discreetly reaches below the counter. My eyes can’t help but follow his hand—down, down—until, to my delight, he pulls out his big, bulging carton of oat milk. ‘I was hiding this from the other customers,’ he tells me, with a wink. ‘But you can have as much as you want.’ ”—Garth, Clinton Hill

“I find a lunch in Midtown that costs less than ten dollars. ‘Yes!’ I cry out. ‘Oh, God, yes!’ The cashier hands me a surprisingly substantial sandwich.”—Liz, works in Midtown

“My two hottest yoga classmates and I hit up a new neighborhood bar after class. For weeks, I’ve been secretly gawking at them as they contort their bodies into downward dogs and standing splits. Now I finally have my chance with not one but both of them. We find a dim booth in the back. As the conversation flows, I’m surprised by how much we all have in common. That’s when we realize that we all want the same thing—to become best friends, which is a miracle, because it’s so hard to make friends in this city. The three of us chat amicably all night long.”—Hillary, East Village

“My phone buzzes in the middle of an important meeting. I know that I should wait, but the temptation is too strong. I sneak a glimpse: ‘Hey, bad news. My improv show got cancelled.’ As the tantalizing words sink in, I pray that my client can’t see the waves of pleasure cascading through my body. My eager eyes linger on the conversation bubble. What will the next message be? Here it comes: ‘The venue says we can’t even reschedule it. Guess you’ll never be able to see me perform.’ I moan so loudly that my client blushes.”—Gloria, Hell’s Kitchen

“My greatest sexual fantasy is just to have regular sex in my own apartment. But, in my fantasy, my apartment has a washing machine and a dryer.”—Sofia, Washington Heights

“Some finance bro is manspreading on the 4 train at rush hour. His knees are about eight feet apart, even though there are old ladies with canes waiting to sit down. Normally, people want to scream at these guys. Me? I don’t think that quite cuts it. I fantasize about catching his eye and giving him a look so dirty that he somehow gets infected with H1N1. You know, swine flu. Really teach him a lesson he’ll never forget. This is sexual for me, yes.”—Jay, Crown Heights

“A ‘Freaky Friday’ situation in which New York and, I don’t know, Oklahoma City, swap costs of living for a year. Oh, yeah, baby.”—Mason, Sunnyside