It’s dreams of riches that power Quamir Anderson through Philly’s sweltering streets of trash.

“Dreams are limitless!” shouted the second-year sanitation engineer — and aspiring songwriter — on Thursday, as he hurled a heaping plastic sack into the rear loader of a city trash truck trundling through a soupy South Philadelphia.

But, so it seemed, was the heat.

“Just wait till noon?” Anderson said, wiping his brow.

It was not yet 8 a.m. on Ritner Street, and already 80 degrees. Philadelphia had hours earlier declared its first “heat health emergency” of the season.

For Anderson, who is 25 and from North Philadelphia, and his truckmates — Rashan Purcell, 40, and crew supervisor Mamadou Sacko, 48 — that meant sweating through another shift.

They battled hovering flies, putrid stenches, and rude drivers. But kind neighbors left coolers of juices, and sweat-dazed passers-by offered respectful, how-do-they-do-it nods.

“I like keeping the city clean,” Anderson said. “You don’t want to be walking down the street every day, and it’s a mess. Can’t have a city like that.”

As the morning air began to feel like an oven, he picked up the trash and sang his song: “I ain’t yet rich yet, but I’m on the road to riches…”

— Mike Newall

The hoodies, tied tight around the farmworkers’ heads, seemed like extreme apparel choices for picking bell peppers late Wednesday morning at Dusty Lane Farms in Elmer, N.J.

So, for that matter, did the flannels and long sleeves worn beneath a mercilessly unclouded Salem County sky.

But the 36 men from León, Mexico, felt cooler in thicker clothes, said their crew chief, Antonio Constantino Martinez, 44. A former fieldworker, Martinez chose all the men for this job, many of them classmates from elementary school.

“If it gets too hot, on the days when everything feels so hard, they just leave,” retiring to their quarters on the 1,500-acre farm, then returning when it’s cooler, Martinez said. For up to 60 hours of work a week, they make between $900 and $1,300, April through October.

Wednesday’s heat — 90 degrees and rising — wasn’t fierce enough to chase anyone away. The men leaned forward, eyes on green prizes, their backs jackknifed at 45 degrees above the plants as they plucked peppers whose shiny skins reflected the relentless sunlight.

“After a while, even in this heat,” Martinez said, “it feels normal.”

— Alfred Lubrano

Rick Pierce, 31, has found his work on roofing crew to be a lesson in science.

A roof will always be at least 10 degrees hotter than street level, said Pierce, 31. A black roof is about 20 degrees hotter. Wednesday’s roof, 48 feet above the South Philly street, was white, and therefore cooler — but still sweltering.

At least, this job didn’t involve installing torch-down roofing.

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“Heat rises,” Pierce observed, “so if you’re holding the torch, the heat’s coming back up and you end up getting burned from it under your neck.”

Back in the day workers would send up buckets of tar that have to heat to 200 degrees to melt.

That’s old school, he said. “People do it, but not a lot.”

— Ximena Conde

Shade was not on the menu during the lunch hour Wednesday on the corner of 33rd and Market Streets, where Gregorio Fernandez assembled tacos and burritos inside El Toro Serrano, his Mexican food truck.

“Oh man, we are boiling back here,” the 40-year-old said.

Despite the heat, his best-selling item is the birria based on his mother’s recipe — beef from a stew on a crispy tortilla served with a cup of hot soup for dipping. From the window where Fernandez took orders, a fragrance of beef, peppers, and thyme taunted awaiting customers.

While the thermometer reached 92 degrees on the West Philadelphia sidewalk, it can climb to 110 degrees inside the metal truck.

Fernandez and his cooking partner drank cool water as the grill sizzled. A whirring box fan was no match for the heat.

Fernandez knew exactly what he was going to do when he got home after work: “I’m going to put on my AC to 100%.”

— Abraham Gutman

Gertie the English bulldog has never liked the heat. Leo the Rhodesian ridgeback can take it or leave it. Nimo the Pom-husky barely notices. It’s not easy being Christy, the Cairn terrier, because she walks the closest to the asphalt.

One thing these canines all have in common is their dog walker, David Glazer. He and his wife operate Philly Pet Care, a dog- and cat-care service serving Center City.

The couple have a few swear-by rules for dealing with summer: Stay in the shade. Hydrate. Wear a hat, and wear cotton.

He drinks 60 ounces of water just during the 10 a.m.-to-4 p.m. shift.

On Wednesday, he also carried a cooling towel and brought dogs inside the apartments or houses he visited for air-conditioning for mini-breaks.

Although the couple’s motto is “We watch your dog, not the clock,” they have to keep walks short on days like these. It’s so hot, he said, “even the poop is sweaty.”

— Erin Arvedlund

Four feet below the 4100 block of Paul Street, Michael Kerper’s weather app registered 95 degrees about 3 p.m. on Wednesday, as he and a coworker dug through mud to find a water break that had cut service to about 20 homes.

The deeper you dig, the hotter it gets, the Philadelphia Water Department workers have learned.

“If you’re not sweating, you’re doing something wrong,” said Kerper, 39, climbing from the hole so another worker could spell him for 15 minutes — that’s the most anyone can dig on a blistering day.

As Chris Griffin, 42, labored amid the saws, broken asphalt, and pungent mud, the five other workers chugged waters and dipped the hand towels they keep under their hard hats in ice.

They talked of cooler places like Wildwood, shark sightings, and jellyfish. A resident approached, wondering when they’ll have water again.

Sometime this evening, a worker answered, before he took his turn back in the hole.

— Ximena Conde

Arriving on Amtrak on Wednesday afternoon, the Smith family from Washington made a beeline for John’s Water Ice in South Philadelphia, and sprawled out on the sidewalk for a water ice picnic.

“I’m really digging this Americana summer vibe,” said Tamara Smith, enjoying her second cup of lemon.

It was hard to argue with her.

The sun was dipping, and the night was cooling. Kids traded baseball cards on a step. A herd of motorcycles roared past. The line of customers stretched down the block. At the window, the counter girls worked with a speed and skill perfected over countless cups of cherry pineapple and lemon chocolate and chocolate buttercream.

“It’s like bartending, but with water ice,” said Bianca DiMatteo, 27, working the window with Alexis Carine, 22, and Siena Palermo.

» READ MORE: Not your grandfather’s weather: These charts show why Philly summers are hotter than in the 1970s

For years, John’s workers survived hot days through the chill of the coolers and breezes from the window. But during COVID, the window remained closed on even the hottest days, and temperatures grew unbearable. That’s when third-generation water ice man Anthony Cardullo installed air-conditioning.

“I’d be drenched in sweat — like I just got done doing a P90x workout video,” DiMatteo said of summers past. But not anymore.

And outside? After a relentlessly hot day, for a little while at least, relief could be found in cup of flavored ice or creamy gelati.

High on water ice, Tamara Smith beamed: “You see all the good in the world.”

— Mike Newall