You can do whatever you want.

We’re back from Montauk. It was different in the summer. For starters, all the shops and restaurants are open. That’s encouraging. You can stroll along the beach barefoot. You can even go in the ocean. It’s expected. The motels tell you not to bring the towels to the ocean. Not that it matters. Those towels feel like sandpaper and the toilet paper is so thin you need half the roll to wipe. The pool tastes salty. The locals avoid the main drag and drive too quickly down the back roads. They don’t tell you how long the wait is at the pancake house and when you finally sit down and order coffee you realize it’s almost been an hour but you don’t care because the cheese omelet and blueberry short stack are so good. You can take a paddle boat on the pond. You can kill a bottle of Johnny Walker black label and wade into the Atlantic. The sand is rockier than you thought it would be. The water should be warmer. Your stomach should be flatter. But now, look at us, projecting. It’s August, not January. You can do whatever you want.


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