We swam naked in the soft surf at Brighton Beach on a night when it was too hot to imagine doing anything else and we'd taken the train, the only ones in the car, and run from the station the block to the boardwalk and up and over that and down across the Atlantic sand stripping over the last fifty yards our clothes strewn along the path in a way you surely should not do in New York City but there was not a soul around at 4:40 in the morning and we plunged in and just played in the water for almost an hour until the dawn cracked the sky far to the east and she noticed lights on in the buildings and park workers perhaps appearing in the distance and we ran out and dressed with no towels so dripping wet and dusted with salt and sand.

We stopped for breakfast under the el before heading back and I looked at her next to me at the counter her hair all tangled her clothes kind of stuck to her and said "you're so fucking beautiful" and just leaned gently toward her and we finally kissed.

Ira Socol