Summer Nights in Long Beach

If you are one of the many islanders who, like myself, lives here year round, you don’t need me to tell you how different this place is in the summer as opposed to the winter.  Folks do unexpected things when they find themselves in little places surrounded by sand and water.  Something happens to people when they’re set loose in a border town.  But when you leave to one side our complaints about the crowds on the boardwalk, the foot traffic crossing Park Avenue, and the long lines at the Delis, it’s the little things that really standout.  There are tiny sensory events that can only take place on a little island off the coast of America, when all the lights are out.  During the summer weekends here on the barrier island, it is always striking to me how scents travel in the hot night air.  During the day, you can smell coconut suntan lotion in whatever direction you turn your nostrils, but at night it’s different; beneath the cheap perfume and gin-sweat there is always the aroma of tobacco.  I don’t know, maybe people smoke more indoors during the cold weather, but on any given summer night in Long Beach, I swear I can sit on my front patio and smell the difference between the German-cut cigarette of the vacationing copyright lawyer and the Newport Menthol of the recently paroled numbers runner.  A breeze from Broadway carries the sulfurous belch of exploded illegal fireworks, and then underneath that comes the sweet stench of the fuse-man’s cigar.  There is a sudden wind change on Walnut and then the air is filled with the spicy aroma of a clove cigarette, probably shared by two young Brooklynites at the start of a night filled with mistakes they’ll remember for the rest of their lives.

I haven’t smoked for years, but lately, I’ve been window shopping at a place near me that has a wide selection of tobacco.  You know that place I’m taking about—you used to go in there to buy tiny waters and stale candy to sneak into the movie theatre.  You know the place that I’m taking about—the bizarre and impossibly random selection of magazines, prepaid phones cards, and herbal aphrodisiacs all gathering dust together on the shelves.  You know the place—your uptight neighbor claimed that he bought a can of Mugg root beer there and popped it open to find it filled with flat amber colored water…and maybe a fingernail.  You wouldn’t be caught dead in there, right?  But let's be honest; every town needs a shop like this to "fill in the cracks" between what is legal and not legal. Whether it is a place to set up some folding chairs so the homeless can play a quick game of high stakes poker, or just an understanding counter clerk who doesn't mind selling XXX porn to minors, this shop is the grease that makes the wheels of Long Beach run. God bless them and their outstanding collection of bootleg DVDS, expired snacks foods, and that dark and mysterious "back room."  What happens back there after closing time?  Illegal dog fights?  Desperate Wino UFC?  I don’t know.  But I can honestly say that these days I have set my eye on that impossibly cheap selection of tobacco products they have displayed in their walk-in humidor.  Maybe someday soon I’ll ask if I can go inside and have a sniff.  I’m not saying that I’ll actually buy one, but I might.  I may not buy one right away, but some hot night here in Long Beach--maybe tomorrow night—who knows what will happen?