More Coney Island (part 2)

This is the same place, different time.

1975 versus 2008

Unlike 2966, the years spent on West 29th St. could never be razed. There I learned about laughter with my friends, I learned it could be wonderful to hide away and read, I watched the sunrise, I cried, I dreamed, I discovered longing, listened to soul music, bongo drums on the street and Cousin Brucie 77 WABC , played with dolls, learned about fear and pain, loss and love. I was safe there and I was in danger there. I was innocent and I was far too aware of life's terrors.

I can walk down the street now and be strong, I have survived, I have thrived.

Life in Coney Island is a lot like the Cyclone, the going forward sometimes feels like a slow crawl uphill, promising an exhilerating ride, rushing against all hope of control, down, up, around, screaming all the way but no one really cares, eventually you make it to the end, your choice, go around again $5, ride at the front if you want, or walk away, safe, the Land Mark deep and everlasting in your soul.