I love it.
I suppose I would love any beach I lived near; I love beaches in general. They’re good places to clear your head. You can’t put your feet where Earth, Wind and Water come together and think about bullshit. Dreams and fantasies, yes. Especially those. But never bullshit.
In the end, it doesn’t matter. Coney is the Beach Next Door, and Coney is where I go when I need to cool my body and restore my soul.
Yes, it’s a bit of a trek from upper Manhattan, but I don’t care.
So. Here’s what I’m going to do.
On July 31, I’m going to start posting a story set in Coney Island – an erotic fantasy that combines the magic and the sleaze that make Coney what it is (and always have; even in Coney’s Golden Era, when it was America’s Playground and high-class place to bring your families, there were brothels just off the Boardwalk). Why that date? You’ll see.
This story looks to be shaping up to be about the length of The Truth of Rock and Roll, but it’s liable to come to you in a more…episodic fashion, since I’m actually writing this one right now, instead of publishing material that was completed long ago.
In any case, I’m going to spend the next few weeks creating the mood for that story. For one thing, if the weather even kind of allows it, I will be visiting Coney next Saturday and taking many, many pictures so those of you who can’t visit can see.
There will be more, but I think that will be good for a start. Stay tuned.
Edited to add: here are some posts from my old blog on the subject.