Coney Island

We finally made it out to Coney Island for an evening. I usually get to Coney once a summer—which seems like enough, given its sensory overload. But once I step off the train and approach Surf Avenue, the energy is embracing and I wonder why it took me so long to come back.

My favorite thing about Coney Island are the people. In every day life in the city, I can no longer seem to find the time to appreciate or enjoy the weird, the slow, the entertainment as I once did with early New Yorker eyes. But going to Coney Island purely as a getaway is reveling in the presence of others; everyone is there to enjoy themselves. Everyone is there to forget, to watch their children’s eyes widen, to walk on something soft, to feign vacation, to rise and drop and spin. Everyone is there to dance and let live.

From Nathan’s to the Cyclone, the lazy spin of the Wonder Wheel, painted signs and plush dolls, a coat of dirt, sweat and beach water on most surfaces—there is grit, charm, and a breeze to blow it all away.


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