Sitting on a bench on the Boardwalk at Jones Beach...
It's chilly, with a steady breeze, but while the sun is out, it is comfortable. As the clouds roll in, the temperature drops from 54 degrees to 46.
All sorts of people walk by. So many of them could be turned into writing prompts.
Most people are dressed for the conditions, many in parkas, with hats and gloves and scarves. One young guy strolls by in shorts and a long-sleeved tee-shirt... and a wool hat pulled down over his ears!
One man, seeing that I am reading, says, "Oh. A scholar!" I smile and do not point out that I am reading a James Patterson novel.
A young woman stops nearby and uses the railing for a variety of leg exercises. She looks like a ballerina who has lost her ballet class. Each time I glance back, I half-expect her to be spinning like a top.
A woman points out to sea and says to her husband, "There are five ships out there." "I see two," he replies, shaking his head. I scan the horizon and have to agree with him. Perhaps she has telescopic vision.
Two men on bicycles who first passed in a leisurely manner with the wind at their backs are now headed in the opposite direction, not looking happy at all.
Two small children are climbing a nearby sand dune as their grandmother looks on. "You're not allowed to fall down," she warns them.
A woman walks past, earbuds in place, but I can hear the music. I wonder just how high she has the volume turned up.
Two men, probably about my age, walk by and I catch a snippet of their conversation. "Reckless promiscuity! That's the real problem."
I mention this last one to Laurie as we drive home. She points out that promiscuity is, by definition, reckless. Indeed, but is it the real problem?