Mood: Enthusiastically perplexed
I hate the waves, and the way one must respond to them. Some arrive with twinkles, god help us! Snack cakes for lunch, and in the afternoon one can’t sit still. The keys are too heavy in the pocket, the chair gets hot. One can’t sleep at night for the noise of other breaths, for the wrinkled sheets scoring the back. At sunrise one gives up and walks on the beach. One sees others jogging or strolling or holding hands, happy to be here. One waves. It serves them right.