Flash Fiction: High Tide at Coney Island
Amaru in Coney Island © Erika Morillo
Image by Erika Morillo
Words by Emma Elizabeth Mathes
In Brooklyn, the brick absorbs heat and slow-roasts those inside. The ductless unit in the bodega will provide a hazy relief, but unless you can afford air conditioning, beating the heat is a challenge. Hot steam billows from drains while the asphaltic streets sweat.
But then comes high tide at Coney Island, like a friend. The sea is warmer than cold, and its aroma is persuasive. Flocks of Brooklynites wade out into the waters, some with no more in common than their city of residence: little kids, pregnant moms, abuelas, tios, tourists, and Denny from the tattoo parlor up the block, all trying to cool down in Mid-July.
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