The B screeched to a halt at Brighton Beach as night fell. I’d been alone on the subway since Prospect Park. As the train gradually emptied throughout the ride, I recalled the vines and plants which blossomed from the crevices of Prospect Park station, lining the walls and tracks with green, and which were fed by the setting sunlight. I’d hoped to pass it on my … Continue reading Coney Island Midnight by Matthew Lesaule