It’s 4 a.m. in New York City, and I have my thumb outstretched to complete strangers in an SUV. The last person to get in their car was holding a surfboard so, technically, am I hitchhiking? Who cares? They didn’t give me a ride to the beach, so I enviously continued my walk to the F. I wait 30 minutes in Brooklyn for that beloved A train to take me to the end of the line, AKA Rockaway Beach.
“Rockaway sucks,” they said. “Rockaway can’t hold size.” Well, as a recent Great Lakes transplant I was definitely willing to see just how much “Rockaway sucked.”
Two surfers jump on the train. One sits next to me and pulls out a book called Breakfast of Champions by Kurt Vonnegut. Clearly, he should be writing this but after reading the title and realizing I skipped breakfast, it hits me: Everything’s the same. I’ve been here before. I’ve been exhausted on this same train four other times.