It’s our last place, Coney Island July

Its one of my favorite places.
Light shines in, with a view of the city. 

I always get excited as the subway takes us further and further out, past the cemeteries, past the avenues, a view of the rides.

A couple of women beside me chatting.

Walking out of the subway, looking at Nathans and the people, a warm feeling wells up.

It’s the last place we can go that feels like it belongs to everyone, people with kids, women in bathing suits, kids dancing and flirting, riding go carts, going to baseball games.
Everyone walks like they own the place and in a sense they do. 

Sandy greets the Cyclones fans.

The game is tied going into the eighth inning.

The pitcher’s arm is like spaghetti.

The manager needs to pull him.

Smack, two run homer.

One inning later, its over.

We wander out into the night.

The kids are dancing, a few fighting.
Cops run over but nothing serious. 

They’ve been in the water all day.

Its still hot.

They run around like they own the place.

One ride, but not the Thunderbolt, OK?

How about the Steeplechase?

Fireworks illuminate the sky.

Its lonely to come here alone, a man explains on the train.

We talk all the way back to Carroll Gardens.