RAINY SEASON by Peter Nolan Smith

Last week New York was scorched by a heat wave. The temperature ranged from 95 in the shade to 110 on the tar. I hid out in the 169 Bar, but decided to leave the comfort of my favorite to take the ferry to Rockaway Beach.

I called Geoffrey.

He was always up for the beach.

I said I would meet him at the Kerry Hills.

Sadly the bar had been closed for a month.

Geofffrey and I hated millenials.

They were only zombie victims.

The ferry was fast.

We passed under the Verranzzano Bridge.

Entering the Broad Channel the air grew cool.

Only a barrier island separated us from the Atlantic.

Even the millenials were happy to be out of the city.

I met Geoffery at 116th Street. We bought a pink of Georgi Vodka and two bottles of Lemonade.
It was a good mix and the two of us proceeded to the beach.

The wind was strangely strong, but wind died after the dunes.

Neither of us wanted to be around people and proceeded to the right.

The beach wasn’t very crowded and we set up two lifeguards down from 116th Street.

“I’ve made loved with my boyfriend in all the lifeguard chairs. From here to Riis Park.”

I was jealous. I hadn’t seen my Thai wife in over a year, but I was also at the beach. My people were from the ocean.

Geoffrey and I swan for an hour. The waves were tall and the water was clean.

“I love this,” said Geoffrey. He was young.

“I love it too.”

I was much older.

At six the lifeguards blew their whistles.

No one left the water.

The day was too delicious to obey the law.

The park guard wanted everyone out of the water.

He was so uncool, except not many people know how to swimming and the undertow was treacherous.

We waited for everyone to leave and went back in the water.

The Atlantic belonged to us.

“Look behind you.” The wind was getting strong.

With good reason.

A storm was coming and coming fast.

The seagulls fled the sky.

“It’s the apocalypse,” shrieked Geoffrey. His ultimate goal was to send millenials into a panic.

Competing against vapid narcissism was a waste of time.

We caught the A train to Brooklyn.

The rain pounded the tracks.

The rain hasn’t stopped yet.

I fell asleep wishing I was with Cher.

She was no millennial.

Not even in the beginning of the rainy season and the temperature was only 65.

With winter not far away.

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