I haven't been to Battery Park in a while. I think the last time I was there was with my dad, four years ago… or was it three? It might have even been last year. No, I'm pretty sure I was right the first time. Anyway, that was the last time I was there. It was the last place we went before we left the city, around 8pm, I think. Dad hadn't been to the city in years.

He's been in Texas for a while, and he hasn't had a chance to get out here, I guess.

Anyway, it was beautiful out there. There were men with fishing poles, hanging over the railing, and the water was really calm, although I hate to think what was in the water that I just couldn't see. I try to turn a blind eye to that sort of thing. After living on Long Island your whole life, and doing the necessary turn of working at Jones Beach, you get used to looking at not-so-clean water. Maybe this is perpetuating the problem, but hey, I did my part to help out. I picked my fair share of garbage with little claws that didn't work so well, so it took hours to get a mile of beach done, and I have to tell you, it was some of the hardest work I've ever done. Of course, I got transferred eventually to booth duty, and I'm not sure with was worse - picking up garbage or having garbage try to pick you up. At least there was a radio in that booth.

So we stood at the rail and talked while my half brother and my dad's wife were busy inspecting every inch of the park they could get to. It was nice. We hadn't talked for a while, and he seemed almost sad, although he would never admit it. I think he's tired. I wish I could help, but I don't know if I want to, even if I could.

But for right then, we tried not to think about anything too serious, and we chatted like old friends, and the breeze was warm and the water was lapping peacefully against the bank. For five minutes everything was perfect.

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