THE RACKET : LIST 31 - Scuzzy Sands
It’s the weekend. It’s summer time. It’s the weekend during summer time and it’s hot and you want water and sand in your bathing suit and drinks and scantily clad maybe-more-than-friends. You go to the beach. It’s bright blue skies and colorful umbrellas and the crash of waves and it’s magical. There’s drugs, badly cut ones, the kind that turn your teeth to powder and the individual grains of sand start to feel like individual pieces of glass. And the sun is bright in a toxic way and your skin feels sick and everyone’s starting to slow way down. You wrap yourself in a blanket and find shade and solitude, but the weave of the blanket is like tiny, sandpaper snakes and your head is loud enough to drown out everything.
Everything breaks at some point. Not in a bad way, but in a way where you don’t realize how long you’ve been sitting somewhere and how dark it’s got and how quiet it is and how everyone you came with has disappeared and you’re okay with it. You pull the blanket tight around your shoulders and the ocean is less crash and more tumble and you sit and stare until the glass of the water sees the sun and it feels like a confession.
