A Stroll Westward

After Labor Day, the beach in Coney Island is slowly dragging summer into hibernation. The sky is low; the September sun is tender; and the bright orange of life guards’ swimsuits and umbrellas has been replaced by the green of fully clothed Parks and Recreation officers, whose job from now on is to shoo away stubborn swimmers and dippers. “The beach is closed now,” they scream into megaphones, their sneakers sinking into the wet sand, signaling the end of carefree barefoot season...

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