There's something magical about Coney Island in September. The heat of summer, the neighborhood's lifeblood, is trickling away; cool air wafts down the boardwalk and through hotdog stands. Tourists have packed it in, but on a Saturday afternoon, New Yorkers still pile onto F trains to catch the tail end of the season, to ride the Cylone before it shuts down for the winter and dig toes into the sand before the weather gets too cold for T-shirts. The atmospheric volume is turned down; everyone wanders, subdued, amid the beach's... More >>>