A Place

Feet buried inches under hot sand; ass planted on a reclined beach-chair, slipping between watching the waves and sleeping; the sepia of dark glasses or the bright black back of your eyelids; optional towel over your head, accommodating if you’ve had too much sun or want to sneak a peak at a neighboring surf-bum’s bathing-suit; cold fruit from an ice-filled cooler; slightly salty lips; the refreshing relief of the right drink; and the pleasure of knowing you have nowhere to be for hours, if not days.

Soon…