A weird night on the shores of Coney Island....
I went with a friend to see a baseball game in Coney Island. Yes, there's a ballpark there and a minor league baseball team called the "Cyclones," named after the roller coaster.
I enjoy live baseball (on tv, not so much), and as the innings passed, the fog rolled in off the Atlantic. In the bottom of the second, the top of the old parachute jump had disappeared. By the top of the 5th, the outfield had been encased, and the 'Clones walked off the field.
I said goodbye to my friend and wandered down to the beach. It was crowded with people, everyone, the "gorgeous mosaic" that makes NYC unique among the world's cities. They were laughing, splashing in the mists of the cold water, the sand littered with the detritus of the day's amusement.
I wandered around the beach, picking out the blurred landmarks across the boardwalk. The greasy snack bars, the LED-bedecked rides, and the noisy rides as they flung people around tight curves and through the air.
I sat on the beach, alone, when suddenly the sky erupted, brilliant with orange sparks. The Friday night fireworks went off, and there I was, along and enraptured....