On the fourth day of my friend, Lizzie Hyde’s, visit to New York, she and I did a lot of walking through wardrobes just like that.
We’d packed our bags with necessary time-travel items and boarded the subway at nine, sharp. We had books for the subway ride, emergency snacks (eaten at 9:08 a.m.), and a 64-pack of crayons.
We climbed through the wardrobe, past aisles of cotton candy, through swarms of seagulls, into the saturated Coney glow.
The Cyclone was closed, so we swept crumbs from our hotdog rappers and put our crayons to work decorating around smudges of mustard.