The beach

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On the final day, the sun awoke, at least momentarily and we ate until we felt sick and I drank enough coffee to fly me to the moon but perhaps not back but that wouldn’t matter because of gravity, you know and I sat and read a book about an old man getting drunk in North Hollywood while the beach occupied itself with big chunks of white meat, face first in the sand, asleep, or at least pretending to be and so I pretended to read and they pretended to sleep and somewhere in the distance a dog licked himself expertly.

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