We arrived at an empty beach this morning to find out that all access to the ocean had been forbidden by the city. Apparently it was too dangerous. The ocean was glacial in its tranquility. A large and mostly naked middle-aged lady located some 50 feet from us spent the whole time we were there trying to call Bloomberg’s office and informing all her relatives that riots were set to break out if we weren’t granted immediate access to the water. Like I said, the beach was empty, so I could only assume she had recruited the three of us into her imaginary riot. She kept looking over for approval as she yelled into her handset. Occasionally she would turn her phone into a CB radio and we’d suddenly be privy to the other side of the conversation as well. Her pals were as outraged as she was.
I wasn’t too heartbroken. The idea of not having Billy caked in sand from head to foot and then not having to get him home without his depositing grains of it onto my person was more than I could ever have asked of the city. Thank you Mr. Bloomberg.
Billy wasn’t too put out. He dug in the sand for a while, then we took him to the adjoining playground where there are plenty of sandless opportunities for kids to get wet.
There was some kind of street fair going on at Brighton Beach today. Lots of loud Russian music and weird tat for sale. It was nice.