Archive for May 2007

beach ii

May 26, 2007

The guitar player speaks the lyrics in a whisper that fades in and out. The snap and crackle of the bonfire drowns his voice, but not the chords. They’re not perfect. A string missed, here and there.

He stops and picks up the whisky bottle. They all look at him as he swigs. They speak in hushed whispers when they speak at all. Mostly they stare at the fire and drink. Once in awhile someone will add a log, or a discarded piece of furniture.

Some wander towards the sea, to skip stones on the flat, black water or sit on the cool rocks, away from the heat and ubiquitous sand.

They stay as long as the booze lasts, and sometimes the sun joins them.



May 24, 2007

No. She’s not beautiful. Or if she is, you’re not allowed to know she is. You can’t know she is.

I don’t get it.

No. You don’t.

But she’s hot!

Hot is fine. She is hot. But she’s not beautiful.

Right. I still don’t –

I know.

she smiles.

he shifts and takes a sip from the bottle between them.

Beauty has to be known?

she smiles again.


Whereas hot is just looks?


You just said bingo.

she laughs and he joins her.

You’re beautiful.

she grabs the bottle from him and takes a long sip, her eyes locked on his.

beach i

May 20, 2007

He wiggled his toes in the sand, feeling the cool grains slide between them. His clothes smelled of bonfire, his hands streaked with coal. The sea sat still.

She walked among the rocks the tide revealed, stepping lightly, eyes on her feet then back to the horizon. Once or twice she looked back to the beach, to where he sat.

His eyes watched her, and nothing else.

Night walk.

May 4, 2007

The cat walked along the sidewalk. It was fast, but not obviously so. Once in awhile its eyes caught a streetlight and flashed with emerald luminescence.

It was not hurrying, but it was fast.

It traversed the large ficus roots that tore through the sidewalk in front of the abandoned school without bother. The leaves above whispered in the warm breeze. Once in awhile the cat stopped to peer through the link fence, into the awkward grass. Whatever caught its attention did not keep it long, and once again the cat walked.

The man was not hurrying, nor was he fast. He staggered along the sidewalk. He thought the street empty.

The cat saw him before he saw the cat. It stopped, its back to the fence. The moon emerged and cast its pale light on them both. The man paused, knowing he was watched. He looked down and saw the green lanterns appraising him, curious.

He smiled. The street was not empty. He crouched, with difficulty, and held his empty hand towards the looking lanterns.

The cat sniffed and then walked towards the hand. It dragged its whiskers and face against the outstretched fingers. From the earth came a purr.

The man smiled and spoke, slurring the evening and his life to the small feline that rubbed its face against his hand. He wept, tears ran down his cheeks but still he spoke and smiled and still the cat purred. Once in awhile the cat would stop and look at him. He would stop as well, his smile fade. A small meow and once again the routine would begin, the story of his life continue, the weight of the past pressing against him.

From the awkward grass came a noise. They stopped. The cat looked away towards the grass. The man held his breath. He stood, unsteady, and watched.

The cat walked along the sidewalk. It did not hurry, but it was fast.