Not entirely continued from the first portion, but certainly related in spirit.
I gathered her hair into a knot. The ocean fell away, leaving behind an aphrodisiac sandlot. There were stables once along the beach. They’ve rotted, disentangled themselves from duty. She walked around the northwest corner of the trail of rocks, picking up decade-old golf balls with each step. I brought along a shovel that I never got to use. The sand was too loose; there weren’t enough shells.
I caught up to her quickening pace and retied the yellow ribbon around her waist. We smelled toffee. We reached a ledge. Deflated footballs were fanned out across the earth below. A seagull with a broken wing was being infiltrated by waves of maggots. Slowly, almost without my noticing, she put her right hand in the front left pocket of my jeans. Her fingers prowled around for the small bottle opener I keep with me at all times. She palmed it and held it tightly. She then looked up at me and mouthed, “I’ll race ya,” with eyes leering through me. We started to smell seafood in a bad way.
–yiqi 7 june 09 11:49AM