The Beach Town

A classic strip: hotels, beach shacks, the pavilion, arcades, bars. People flood the streets, most in cutoff jean shorts and flaunting gaudy tattoos. The signs are worn, and the paint is peeling. But its rich in flavor. A beach town, no matter how old and worn, is a beautiful thing.

I’m at Misquamicut State Beach in RI right now, where it is pouring rain. Except it’s actually kind of nice here- never expected that.

Don’t get me wrong- Misquamicut is NOT a ‘nice’ beach; its kind of trashy, a little too crowded, and it IS in Rhode Island (kidding). But its got that feel- the summer beach house, carnival, ‘I’m going to be young forever and nothing can stop me’ feel. It’s the type of place where you run into the ocean at midnight and sneak into hotel pools. Rules don’t exist; reality doesn’t matter. And when you sit and watch the sunset across the marshes, staring out across nothing but green and blue, you know that you’re at the corner of the world, away from everything.

I’m hiding under my towel now, wrapped in an over-sized sweatshirt as the sky erupts. No swimming allowed today- the life guards won’t allow it with the lightning. But there’s something kind of nice about the rain. It’s different. It’s penetrating. It’s calm.
It’s kind of like the beach town itself.

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