![]() It’s not as easy to get to by subway as, say, Coney Island or even the beaches at the other end of the Rockaways. Riis is the city’s most democratically queer beach, named in 1914 after the muckraking journalist (then recently deceased) who campaigned (using language that admittedly can seem a bit questionable today) to improve the lives of the city’s immigrant communities. The next morning, hung-over and depressed, I make my way to Jacob Riis beach with one of my first queer friends in New York, a bag of White Claws in hand, hoping it would somehow make everything better. ![]() ![]() To be more specific, I drank too much tequila, went to a party I didn’t like, drank more tequila, and, somewhere between an Uber and the front steps of my apartment, lost my new iPhone. From left: Emilio Vides-Curnen, Gobi-Kla Vonan, Jonathan Chay, Brandon Leo Beasley, Rob Dozier, Jay-Michael Wilson, and Justin Duckworth, Brooklyn.
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