Yesterday marks three months that I’ve lived in New York City. Three entire months, I cannot believe it.
Because this was a long weekend, I took myself to the beach on Sunday. The weather wasn’t particularly beach-friendly – upper 70s and overcast. I’ve only been to the beach in Galveston (gross) and San Diego (flawless), and this weekend was my last chance to see what New York is working with since all the beaches close after Labor Day. I talked to my coworkers a few weeks ago and they all agreed that Long Beach was by far the nicest option, so I threw a bag together and got on the Long Island Rail Road early on Sunday morning.
First things first, a round trip ticket to Long Beach costs almost $17 and the ride was an hour both ways. That’s annoying all by itself but when I arrived, I learned that I’d have to pay another $12 to actually access the beach. I’m sorry, what? $12 to go hang out on God’s sand and in God’s water, I don’t think so. I used the ATM in a hotel by the boardwalk and then went straight into the beach via their “hotel guests only” passageway. For a moment I felt bad but that feeling was brief.
I stayed from 10:00 AM to 3:00 PM and had a glorious time. GLORIOUS!
There is nothing like rolling around on the beach without a single fuck to give as to whether people are staring. I poured sand into my hair. I walked backwards into giant waves and let the water slam my body into itself. I sat down in the ocean and let the tide pull me towards the deep until I couldn’t breathe and instinct kicked in. I unfolded my towel and slept under the hiding sun.
On my way back I took careful notice of the neighborhoods surrounding the train. These people live like real Americans. (Real America = not Manhattan.) I saw houses, driveways, garages, back and front yards. I couldn’t believe how shocked I was to see a water hose not attached to a bodega. There were parking lots and empty sidewalks.
My ability to remember a daily routine outside of the city is beginning to fade. I know that I used to wake up in the morning and drive a car. There was traffic… Sometimes I’d have a coffee or a cigarette on the way. I did the same thing going back home. The only time I walked anywhere was to get to and from the car.
I remember, but it’s fading.