The beach turned out to be a great hit. We arrived to brightly lit shores and the sunshine sound of The Beach Boys. There were wooden tiki bars set up with an endless supply of alcohol. There was dancing and hula hooping, frisbee and limbo. Over the course of four hours I must've had at least 10 beers. When I felt that frothy yellow tide washing over my liver in waves, its icy and mischievous undertow pulling at my heels, I knew some rascality was underway.
There were bottles of juniper water, straw skirts and coconut brassieres, playful and inciting roguery. There was want of scandal, something shadowy and furtive to balance the sun, something to make mischief, something daring.
We took a walk across the beach and came back with the sun in our eyes. We floated across the sand, blown in on the breeze from the gently rolling waves.
Someone flushed a diaper down the toilet.
Then we disappeared, northward bound and sleepy, catching naps like cats.
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