Fire Island

The hole appeared maybe in March. It was the size of—and as oddly shaped a trapezium as—a bad West Village studio.

The town’s dock becomes a short boardwalk that deposits arrivals deboarding the boat from the mainland at a cramped, poorly planned intersection; that is Cherry Grove, Fire Island’s entire tiny downtown.

So arrivals find that to their right is a restaurant, and then behind that a bar. Ahead of them is the walkway to a bar; and behind that the pizza parlor; and, a bit up, a store; and, nearer, a Prudential Douglas Elliman office. To their left is a tiny post office, another real estate office and a bar. In the middle of all this, essentially, is the hole.  read more »

With Labor Day Weekend just a few hours away, The Transom decided to go straight to the source: the Long Island Rail Road section of Penn Station. The trip got off to an inauspicious start, however, when a faux-pas was committed: hugging a young child on the subway.

Her sweatshirt read: 'Aww someone needs a hug.' A reminder of that didn't cut it with her father. "Get outta here," he said.  read more »

In Penn Station, it was nuts. The 3:21 for the Fire Island ferries was leaving soon, as was the 3:58 to Montauk. In the ruckus was Gabby, a 22-year-old assistant at a PR firm in Manhattan: "I'm spending my last weekend in East Hampton!" she said. She looked more 25 than 22. "I was out 'til 4 last night! I'm busted right now!" There was an awkward silence. Was she nervous about the weather warnings? Not at all. "If it's not the beach, it's the clubs!"

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