Coney.

Any of you who know me know that I love Coney Island somethin’ fierce.  It’s dirty, seedy, and hardscrabble – everything I’ve never been and am totally fascinated by.  Most of my friends don’t understand why I like to spend summer afternoons packed into bleacher seats watching a tattooed girl eat fire, but then I don’t understand what’s so interesting about golf, so I say we just call it even.

My awesome friend Allison and I quickly became obsessed with Coney our first summer in NYC, due to the siren call of the Mermaid Parade, and of course, the 4th of July hot dog eating contest.  (I went a couple times.  It’s actually pretty gross.  They dunk the hot dogs into water to make them easier to eat, and what is worse than a soggy bun?  Lots of things, but let’s not nitpick.)

I used to head out to Coney on random summer Saturdays, just to enjoy a stroll along the boardwalk or lay out on the beach, and one of my favorite birthday outings began at Nathan’s Famous Hot Dogs and ended with the fireworks show after the Brooklyn Cyclones baseball game.

Imagine my surprise when I pulled off highway 285 this weekend to snap a photo of the river and found THIS:

Coney Island restaurant

Confusion/Excitement/Sadness

I was sad to be so far away from actual Coney, but I was happy that Colorado delivered a taste of familiarity.  Unfortunately, there were no women in Puerto Rican flag bikinis, but you can’t have everything in life.

P.S. I know there are larger issues about Coney Island being a rough neighborhood that’s now being gentrified…it’s complicated and very difficult for a lot of people, and I don’t mean to trivialize it!

 

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