Everything is open now — it has to be, seasons rage on, we cannot change back once the clicker has ticked forward — but it still feels strange. If you’d gone to the Wildwood Boardwalk as we did last Wednesday eve around 6pm, you’d be forgiven for thinking you’d accidentally stepped into the subconscious of Bruce Springsteen circa 1975. With Memorial Day weekend just hours away even then, the boards were populated with two categories: One we shall call, in deference to The Boss, “Madmen, Strummers & Bummers” and another we shall call, “People With Saws.” Touch-ups everywhere, a Waiting For Godot-esque feeling of some kind of pending activity, and whoever was in between, well, I think we all just fell into the former category by default. We saw arcades is alarming states of disrepair. We experienced ATM machines that were unplugged from their telephone lines. We saw two seagulls madly procreating just above a neglected t-shirt stand. It was dreamlike, and sad. And maybe there was a lesson here. You can build and fix and stroll and panhandle all you want from the Gods of the Sun: But you know what? You just can’t make summer come.
[Photo credit: Shoretalken Photo Desk]