Coney Island, New York

"It’s like you feel homesick for a place that doesn’t even exist." - Garden State

When I think of Coney Island, I think of modern pinup songstress Lana Del Rey. There is something sinister stirring underneath its sugary surface that I can't quite pinpoint. It is this delicious tension that makes me want to go back there to see what it is like in summer when the girls are dressed as color-drenched mermaids and the lobster roll trucks are up and running.

I have only been to Coney Island once - it was Christmas and I wanted to get away from glamorous New York. Luna Park was closed (it operates from April to October). The empty Wonder Wheel (1918-) and The Cyclone roller coaster (1927-) had an eerie vibe to them as though forgotten by mankind even though they have yet to be devoured by the urban monster called gentrification (I pray that day will never come). In a Hitchcockian way, the seagulls far outnumbered the people on the beach.

I can picture Lizzy Grant on a desolated bench soaking up the wintry atmosphere, penning a melancholic song about a relationship that begins to fray at the seams.

I can also picture Lana Del Rey as a mermaid without a care in the world in a Coney Island summer that seems to contain only beginnings and no ends.