Coney Island in the fall is far different from its summer self.
At least how I imagine it to be; I’ve never been at its peak. The boardwalk was empty. A man growled at me for taking pictures that weren’t even of him. A lone musician strummed his guitar, singing to no one. A lady stared at a bird that stared at her back.
Yet, it was exactly what I needed.
Tired from jumping for pictures, we headed back to the city.
That weekend, for me at least, Baltimore beckoned.
