On my way to Jones Beach for the first time this season, the Dr. texted and told me that he will be out by noon. He wanted to tag along. This was a big deal to me considering I was there almost every Saturday last summer. So I packed lunch for two–angel-hair pasta, roasted chicken from the Spanish store down the block and some watermelon slices with a big bottle of water–and met up with him at Penn Station. By 2pm, we were on the beach.
We situated ourselves on my usual spot. It’s less crowded because it’s in between the couples with children and the happy gays, two groups who don’t want to be near each other. We rented a big umbrella and ate our lunch. I spent the rest of the afternoon sunbathing and reading clips from The Times while the Dr., well, slept and slept.
Four hours later, we got stuck on the road because of a car accident along the way. The ten-minute shuttle bus ride to the train station took more than an hour. We caught the 8pm train back to New York City and had dinner at Grand Sichuan before we trudged back to Harlem. Our sunny Sunday went as quick as the Boston Kreme doughnut the Dr. bought for me while in Long Island.