This was my first time visiting NYC, and it was beautiful. Not in the scenic wilderness way that I'm used to, but in the lively, diverse sort of way.
It was beautiful in the sense that every time I walked around a corner, I was exposed to a new pocket of culture. It took me a minute to get used to the throngs of people and the hurried life, but I adjusted.
Coney Island at 8 am on Thursday was understated and hushed. Shops were just beginning to open, people were casually strolling the boardwalk.
On the pier, I walked up just as a man was getting a big tug on his fishing line. Folks began to gather as they realized that he was reeling in a shark.
"You can't keep that shark, man. You'll get a huge fine if they catch you with that," one man said to another. "That's a man eating shark. Do you see those teeth?"
Walking back toward the beach, I saw a man on a bench, staring out at the water. His beard was flung into the breeze, his yarmulke fitted snugly to his head.
"Can I take a photo of you, sir?" I asked.
"Whatever makes you happy."