Back down to the river again

Walking through Astoria Park I see a length of old nylon rope that
glints in the sun like the body of a snake in the spring grass and for
a moment my muscles tense, ready to run and I'm surprised at this
extremely natural reaction to a simple thing in the most unnatural of
environments.

Down by the water I immediately notice the smell of salt...Only the
second time since I moved that I've been able to smell the sea. My
sailor's blood churns beneath my skin, not unlike the waters of the
Hellgate.

Along the shore there is a place where the beach is made up entirely
of glass... Thousands of tiny pieces of blues and greens, remnants of
bottles that were discarded into the water for whatever reason....
Drifting along until the tide gathered them all along a ten foot
stretch of land.. What strikes me most is not the sparkly sight, but
the fact that when the waves crash on the shore it makes a noise like
the clinking of champagne glasses or the crystals of a chandelier.
That is so New York, hints of glamour in the dingiest of places.