This week’s Hangout is at Rockaway Beach, and by the time I arrive there’s twenty-something people socializing around a volleyball net, looking exactly like a comfort porn clip. There’s a grill, but no one remembered to bring charcoal, so there’s just a cooler full of iced hot dogs and cold beer. Down at the shoreline, a girl wearing a batik wraparound dances wild and free. She strips the tapestry off her waist and lifts it above her head, letting it whip in the wind as she moves, and I wish I could look that spontaneous and seductive, even if it’s just for a selfie promo clip—which it is: She’s got a tripod set up. It’ll be uploaded on Hang-Out and get a thousand Firestarter invites by this afternoon.

“Hey, you!” five guys say in unison as I approach.

“Want a beer?” a dude in a screen-printed Buddha tee asks.

“Sure. Thanks!”

He pops the cap and hands it to me. “I’m Jeff.” We shake hands, his palm cold from the bottle, and he motions to the volleyball court. “You play?”

“I did in high school.”

“Good enough for me. You can be on our team.” He gives me a blue armband. “We’re up after orange is done.”

I meet some of the other players. A girl named Shawna, two brothers, Jack and Tom, who run a DIY charcuterie business in Hoboken, and a forty-nine-year-old woman named Destiny who leads virtual-reality Kabbalah workshops. The purple team ends up winning, so we take our positions against them. Our team isn’t great. Most of our players are more interested in getting photos of themselves than actually playing. They give one another high fives every single time we score, and I have to wait for them to take a bunch of selfies together. When I dive to save a spike, the charcuterie brothers go way overboard, telling me that was the sickest shit they’ve ever seen, but Jeff is cool. He just gives me a thumbs-up, so perfect it’s almost straight out of a comfort porn clip, and I feel my cheeks flush.

After our team loses, the Hangout starts to break up. Someone says they can go get charcoal, but you can tell everyone just wants to go home. It’s already been an awkward hour with a bunch of strangers. Destiny says goodbye with too much emotion and gives everyone hugs, and the selfie girl slinks off with one of the charcuterie brothers.

“Nice playing,” Jeff says as I get my bag.

“Thanks—beginner’s luck.”

“You interested in seeing Bottle Beach?”

“What’s that?”

“There’s an old factory that busted open down the road and there’s Prohibition glass everywhere—old bottles, marbles, pottery scraps, all washed up. It’s pretty apocalyptic. I could show you if you’ve got good shoes?”

“Sneakers.”

“That’ll work.”