We took our time on those long, hot summer nights. We breathed in the intoxicating smells of taffy shops, fried dough, and the smell that stays with me most of all, that of the T-shirt shops and iron-on decals. It was in those T-shirt shops that we stood in awe, necks thrown back, looking up at the tall walls, miraculously full of decals. The choices were mind-boggling. You see, we had to consider every decal, because every year we were allowed one T-shirt with an iron-on decal of our choice. This was our gift from our parents and one on which we placed a high premium. So it was, for us, a meaningful purchase, and one that we took with a certain amount of seriousness. Not only did we have to choose the T-shirt (regular or baseball, one color or two, long or short-sleeved, crew neck of v-neck) but also the exact, right, perfect, decal. The decal that defined the summer; that glittered in its plasticy wonderfulness and was symbolic of that particular summer. It had to convey so much, and as a general rule, this is a lot to ask of a decal.

There were dozens of these high-walled shops. We stood, baring our necks in sacrifice, staring at the magnificence of it all. We discussed, debated, agreed, argued. Our necks began to ache. No matter... we went into every shop and I believe the warm, synthetic, chemical smell of the iron-on press and shimmer of the warm decal was a strange comfort to us. It was a smell we would always remember, and when we finally made our choice, we held the shirt close to our nose and breathed in the delicious aroma. We wore our hard-chosen t-shirts a lot. We wore them out of the shop where we bought them; we wore them on the remaining nights when we walked the boardwalk.

But I want to tell you that it was the getting there that mattered most. We took our time. We would choose at the last possible moment, because we wanted to be confident that we had considered all the options. We walked the boardwalk. We bummed cigarettes and drank root beer through crazy straws and we thought we were so cool, which we weren't, but that's cool.

On those overcast days when the beach didn't beckon, we walked the boardwalk in the gray light of day, the soft air and sea-smell all around us. During the day, the fair at the end did not blare the heavy rock and roll that filled the night. The day sounds were different, mellower. The sounds of gulls, pinball machines, crashing waves, and rain as it hit the shingled; tin roofs of the grand hotels and darkened the bleached wood beneath our feet.