Wednesday in New York City was hot. Not Texas hot. But the kind of weather you can wear shorts in. And I've been working as a rickshaw delivery guy for the last month. So I'm eager to show off my ripped up legs. Anyhow, I go to the bottom drawer and pull out all my shorts on Wednesday night. Thursday rolls and I proudly declare--"It's shorts weather again!"
And I was fine. I walked around the LES all morning taking photos (got a really good one of this dude getting sprayed on the head with a hose) and I'm perfectly comfortable.
Get back home and Evan has the idea to go check out Coney Island--"It's such a beautiful day. " We take the train out there (by the way, take the Q and not the F) and as soon as I stepped out onto the platform I knew I was royally screwed. It was at least 20 degrees colder than the city.
The wind was the real killer. I looked on as a chagrined bunch of beach bums tried valiantly to toss the frisbee. The seagulls were posting up in the draft, flapping their wings once every 30 seconds or so. And I'm hiding behind every obstacle I can find to block the wind. It was like shoot the freak. And I was the freak. And the wind was the masochistic carnival-goer with a dead-eye.
If you're looking for a freaky-abandoned-carnival-on-the-beach vibe, there's no place like Coney Island. But for chrissakes bring a jacket.
This reminds me of Fishwerman's Wharf in SF... I swear the souvenir shops make so much money selling sweatshirts to tourists who had expected warm California sun. ; )
ReplyDelete"Freaky abandoned carnival on the beach"? Sounds like a kick-ass place to take more pictures...