I find myself in Atlantic City. I have a story I really want to finish and want to just get it done tomorrow. I do not gamble and don’t want to step in a casino. I am also not a beach person.
But I am here sitting at a place on the Boardwalk, and it is resonating to be in the place where the Monopoly board comes from. I drove on some of the familiar streets today trying to find my cheap hotel. I am here to get work done and the hotel room is adequate if the view of a concrete wall can be considered adequate.
I booked two nights and thought about abandoning tomorrow but I think I will see it through. I had a nice walk here past a lot of decadence with garish signs all over the place, and a series of display screens advertising the same thing the entire length down. Tony Danza made an appearance.
I never thought I would ever be in Atlantic City. I didn’t know what to expect. It’s about an hour and a half from where I usually stay up mid-north.
I have just been informed the beer I am drinking is $12. I ordered another one anyway. I can see the ocean and I can take the beer with me if I wanted. I think I will and walk back to the hotel where I will write up the rest of the newsletter for tomorrow morning.
I didn’t expect to be a person who traveled in America but here I am in another new place, wondering who we are, who I am, how we got here, how we get to the next place.
This is the first night I will ever spend the night in New Jersey. There is almost zero chance I will run into anyone I know but it’s a quiet night here. I am the only person sitting at the bar facing the Boardwalk as a band plays to entice people in. Flies keep nipping at my knees. I have a sense I don’t want to talk to strangers here.
So many humans pass by. Too many to capture details. All I want to do is write the story that sits in my head waiting for the time I give myself over to completing it, with so many other stories needing to be told as well.
Where to start? Maybe I take more of this place in for a moment with all the weird angles working themselves out all of the time, everyone betting, everyone chancing.
I am proud of my risk aversion. The flies risk the slap. The seagulls follow close to the humans in the hopes something will get dropped. Then a swarm will descend.
The band does a great rendition of a Fleetwood Mac song. A father and son share ice cream while walking north. A couple of couples walk south with a bag of what might be salt water taffy. I wish I could relax and just take it all in but the story I need to write needs to be written.
A shuttle tram running up the Boardwalk stops for a moment to let someone off before proceeding to the next spot. The sunlight is hidden behind a dark cloud that may contain smoke or pollution. A fly goes for the beer I am drinking but flies away when I go to pick it up.
I will buy a third and take it with me and then I will walk and get back to work and try to stick around another day.
After all, this is probably the only time I will ever be in Atlantic City. I already placed my bet. No need to roll the dice again.
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Literally as soon as I hit send, the band began singing 99 Red Balloons and it occurs me to the world might end up now.
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Now they are doing a cover of Heroes and this is an important moment. Those of who spend all of our time alone can weave so many narratives and I think it turns out this is just how I managed to cope with a ridiculously lonely and isolated childhood. I became a writer to entertain myself.
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Now I am having a Bitburger in a very gigantic glass while watching the Phillies try to avoid extra innings. This place is what keeps me here tomorrow as well as I feel I can definitely finish this story while eating schnitzel.
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