Beach Tar
Beaches mean something different to me than they do to other people, because I have never held hands with anyone on one, I have never kissed anyone on one, and I have defintely never made love on one. I'm sure that the beach is a grand place to do that, but it is a pleasure that has consistently been denied me.
The sun is hot, the sand is white and coarse, and there are no sexy hardbodies sunning themselves in thong bikinis, laying face down with the strap of their tops unfastened. I don't get to watch people's thighs do that jiggling thing as they walk toward me, because there is no one there worth looking at.
I buy one of those novelty knives at a novelty shop near the beach, but a pretty long way from where I am staying in the RV with my parents. I rode my bike there, and I must have ridden 2 miles. Galveston is like that. It has a very long, very wide uninterrupted sidewalk that runs for miles and miles, and I didn't feel too bad about riding my bike that far, because of that wide sidewalk. We need those in more places.
The knife was one of those that had a plastic blade that was retracted by a spring into the handle, so if you stabbed someone with it, the blade would collapse into the handle. It was kind of fun. And the thing about the knife was that I did not buy it on the long bike trip. I bought it somewhere when I was with my parents, and the trip to the store on my bike on the wide sidewalk was totally an exercise in independence, and a way of testing the whole forgiveness vs. permission thing.
There was a playground at the place where we were camping, and I brandished the knife at a moron kid. His voice was already changing, and he seemed like he was a few sea oats shy of a full sand dune. He screamed in terror like a little preteen pussy, and ran off. I gave chase, and when the paternal gestapo showed up, an unknown kid came to my defense, and demonstrated that the knife was a novelty item, and the matter was settled.
The only other moron kid story that I have was the time when I was walking on the beach with an assembly of people. Kind of a haphazard arrangement. We were close together and in contact, but we were by no means together. And we spotted a small sand crab, and the moron kid leaned in for a closer look, and the sand crab pinched him on the fleshy part between the thumb and forefinger, sacrificing a limb of his own in the process. I don't personally know the crab, but the crab definitely took one for the team that day. The crab's arm completely came off into the moron kid's hand, and I took pleasure in in hearing the screams in his moronic, yet surprisingly deep for his age, voice.
I did have a girl there that I wanted to make out with, and she was a little bit older, but she was not interested in me. She kicked me on the way down a waterslide. The only other meaningful contact was when she was sitting on the beach pouring water over her toes trying to get beach tar off of her feet.
There were a bunch of Mexican fishermen on the beach catching fish. they caught a lot of them, and one of them was cleaning fish with a cigarette in his mouth. It was effortless the way that he did it, and he wasn't really paying attention. He would insert the knife below the tail, and slice toward the head. He would then remove the entrails and the chum, and dip the fish in the water.
They asked me and one of the other kids with me if we wanted some fish. I declined, he accepted. But the joke was on him, because his parents would not cook the fish, and I think that he thew the carcass back into the ocean to feed the other fish, or bacteria, or plankton, or whaever in the hell eats fish carcasses. I'm sure that there is something.
I rode my bike into the ocean, and let one of the other kids ride it as well. Let me tell you, salt water is not good for a bicycle, as I learned when I got home, and it really wasn't worth it, because riding a bike into the ocean is not as good as you would think. It may be better than making love on the beach, but I have no basis for comparison.
The sun is hot, the sand is white and coarse, and there are no sexy hardbodies sunning themselves in thong bikinis, laying face down with the strap of their tops unfastened. I don't get to watch people's thighs do that jiggling thing as they walk toward me, because there is no one there worth looking at.
I buy one of those novelty knives at a novelty shop near the beach, but a pretty long way from where I am staying in the RV with my parents. I rode my bike there, and I must have ridden 2 miles. Galveston is like that. It has a very long, very wide uninterrupted sidewalk that runs for miles and miles, and I didn't feel too bad about riding my bike that far, because of that wide sidewalk. We need those in more places.
The knife was one of those that had a plastic blade that was retracted by a spring into the handle, so if you stabbed someone with it, the blade would collapse into the handle. It was kind of fun. And the thing about the knife was that I did not buy it on the long bike trip. I bought it somewhere when I was with my parents, and the trip to the store on my bike on the wide sidewalk was totally an exercise in independence, and a way of testing the whole forgiveness vs. permission thing.
There was a playground at the place where we were camping, and I brandished the knife at a moron kid. His voice was already changing, and he seemed like he was a few sea oats shy of a full sand dune. He screamed in terror like a little preteen pussy, and ran off. I gave chase, and when the paternal gestapo showed up, an unknown kid came to my defense, and demonstrated that the knife was a novelty item, and the matter was settled.
The only other moron kid story that I have was the time when I was walking on the beach with an assembly of people. Kind of a haphazard arrangement. We were close together and in contact, but we were by no means together. And we spotted a small sand crab, and the moron kid leaned in for a closer look, and the sand crab pinched him on the fleshy part between the thumb and forefinger, sacrificing a limb of his own in the process. I don't personally know the crab, but the crab definitely took one for the team that day. The crab's arm completely came off into the moron kid's hand, and I took pleasure in in hearing the screams in his moronic, yet surprisingly deep for his age, voice.
I did have a girl there that I wanted to make out with, and she was a little bit older, but she was not interested in me. She kicked me on the way down a waterslide. The only other meaningful contact was when she was sitting on the beach pouring water over her toes trying to get beach tar off of her feet.
There were a bunch of Mexican fishermen on the beach catching fish. they caught a lot of them, and one of them was cleaning fish with a cigarette in his mouth. It was effortless the way that he did it, and he wasn't really paying attention. He would insert the knife below the tail, and slice toward the head. He would then remove the entrails and the chum, and dip the fish in the water.
They asked me and one of the other kids with me if we wanted some fish. I declined, he accepted. But the joke was on him, because his parents would not cook the fish, and I think that he thew the carcass back into the ocean to feed the other fish, or bacteria, or plankton, or whaever in the hell eats fish carcasses. I'm sure that there is something.
I rode my bike into the ocean, and let one of the other kids ride it as well. Let me tell you, salt water is not good for a bicycle, as I learned when I got home, and it really wasn't worth it, because riding a bike into the ocean is not as good as you would think. It may be better than making love on the beach, but I have no basis for comparison.