I must have scared away 500 hundred birds. Once, their white wings filled the greyish-orange sky. Soon the sun was gone.
It's funny how every beach smells a little differently. I kept running and there was a little sweet blood taste in my throat. The last time I felt that way, I was 14. On the shore, acrobats lifted bikini girls in the air. Kids were building sand castles. The thought of leaving and never coming back again almost turned California into Russia. I stopped, wishing the tides could be rougher, could wash everything away. Instead, waves pulled soft sand. It was silky and tender.
The birds were silent. Content. Almost like they didn't know or care the existence of each other.
