My earliest memory of Atlantic City, N.J., traces back to when I was just a tyke: I insisted on being carried because I thought I was going to fall through the cracks in the Boardwalk.
When I revisited Atlantic City after a few decades, I noticed a couple of things had changed: first, there was more space between the Boardwalk and me so the cracks no longer posed a threat, and secondly, a bevy of colorful casino hotels had cropped up, trying their best to woo passersby with flashy signs and loud speakers bellowing out promises of fortune and drink specials. ...
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