Skee Ball and Hoodies

I like the title. Catchy, yes? What is it about? How shall I write it?
The evenings cooler than a month ago in July. Days still hot for the shore, but the Atlantic off the shore is not like water in the Gulf. I can't see my toes. And it feels so much colder. But laying out on top of a boat to keep the Florida tan helps a little. The sun has lost its intensity and so has the summer.
I'm missing my new friends from church camp. I think of the boy, and his family. I'm ready to stay at home, been traveling too much this summer. Spend some time with my friends on summer nights before school starts. Watch some TV on our living room floor before I stop for the school year. Trek to the post office two or three times a day to check the mail from my friends, especially the boy.
Hooded sweatshirt jackets fit easily over the beach attire, warming the body in the fading sun and rising moonlight. The boardwalk shows off the hoodies of dark colors. The arcade flashes, before legalized gambling in this state. Quarters flow into machines.
I am taught the game of skee ball, not a game of chance, but skill. I practice and practice. Excited as the soft ball size, but hard ball makes the high score. The tickets stream out at the bottom, as I roll the wooden ball up the slope, aiming for the middle hole. I continue and continue. It is addicting, because unlike pin ball, I have sense of control. I don't even care what I can get with the tickets, I just love throwing that ball. I believe I had enough for a trinket or two, bracelet, necklace, maybe a ring.
When I get home, the stores are filled with hoods on all the tops, it seems. Short sleeve, long sleeve, light weight shirts have that extra material near the neck. I miss the jackets, the hoodies. They scream shore to me, with waves lapping in the darkness. Cooler end of summer nights holding enchantment that at the end of vacation, something great can still happen.