Heaven is the day after Labor Day at the Jersey Shore. It appears suddenly, heralded by a mass exodus of cars and people. In the void, they leave a tranquility broken only by the occasional chirp of sea birds and the rhythmic crashing of ocean waves into the surf. There are no pearly gates that guard its entrance- just a retiree under a wooden booth with leathery skin and a welcoming smile. She wont judge your deeds like St Peter, but she does require $8 and a promise that you wont litter. You might see an old bearded man, but he's more concerned with his metal detector than your sins and the only thing he cares about ascending is the tide. Despite the lack of harps and angels, it is paradise. Close your eyes and hear the sound of the ocean waves rolling in. The salt air clears your mind. You are present, in the moment. You scoop up a handful of warm sand and let it slip through your fingers, marveling at its fine quality. You stare at the majestic osprey riding the warm air currents to its nest. You observe the fisherman, patiently waiting for a bite while taking in the sunrise. The beach is dotted with small children, building sand castles, playing in the waves, giggling. You recline in your beach chair, tip your hat down low, close your eyes, and appreciate the warmth of the sun's rays on your skin. The ocean breeze lightly blows by. Time becomes an illusion as your feet sink into the soft grains. How long have you been here? Hours? Days? One moment blends into the next and you might just stay here for all eternity. Then you hear it. Faint at first. A rhythmic beating- is it your heart? A bass. In the distance a BMW approaches. Through an open window, you see an artificially tanned fist pumping to the beat. The retiree shudders her booth, but it is too late- the gates have been overrun. Once cast out, they have returned. Memorial Day is here. The garden paradise slowly fades into the background, overtaken by sentient flat-brimmed hats and crushed beer cans. Locals can only bide their time til the Fall returns.