[for clay & ruth-anne]
It was late afternoon, almost evening, and Danny and Clay were relaxing in the light from the setting sun, long yellow beams falling across the makeshift deck around the Belle. The sound of the waves was coming and going with the breeze and it made Danny think of Coney Island, where he'd spent almost ever summer up until the Airforce took over his life.
The notebook was open over one leg and his feet were up on the table, and Clay was just screwing around somewhere nearby, singing softly to himself like he wasn't even aware he was doing it. Danny grinned, lifted his pen, and tried to decide what he was writing and if he cared if he wasn't much good at poetry at all.
The notebook was open over one leg and his feet were up on the table, and Clay was just screwing around somewhere nearby, singing softly to himself like he wasn't even aware he was doing it. Danny grinned, lifted his pen, and tried to decide what he was writing and if he cared if he wasn't much good at poetry at all.