a chill wind blows from the ocean the boardwalk Creek under
each step I take on this day after Thanksgiving ritual I make each year though
too cold for the long walk to the gold trim hotel where I know she won't be
anyway, only in my imagination, this need to be here, to resurrect a past that
goes well past that summer time weekend she spent here or even the birthday
dance she did for her mother on the sand, back to my roots with the band and
the sagging roof of the old Stone Pony, and the parade of people whose names are
memorialized in plaques on the backs of benches that line this boardwalk from the
casino to the theater. I stop and pay my respects to Clarence and wish I could
do the same for her, but the brittle chill makes my fingers ache, so this year,
I got from the heated theater to the casino and back, the images of the past
flowing through my head.
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