I stand at the end of a weathered boardwalk and stare straight ahead at the beach. I remember it as it was in my youth: an endless stretch of pristine white sand, interrupted only by a faraway dune and a decrepit fishing shack.
This planked path has seen generations of my family gather for beach time, volleyball, baseball and touch football games, with spectators prophetically betting on the winning teams.
Today, those once-friendly wagers are made in the garish casinos which blot the shoreline. And my pockets carry not bundles of twenties, but a few quarters salvaged from my losing battle with the one-armed bandits.
(Photo by Renee Homan Heath, Friday Fictioneers, January 25, 2013.)