life on the beach
their is an old man who tends the yard here at the hostel. he wears navy blue shorts almost as dark as the skin on his naked back. this tanned leather covers his humped shoulders and the muscle of a life of good work. every morning he is raking the sand in the court yard or sweeping the floors under the awnings. he works diligently, talks gruffly, and hates the crabs. you can hear his curses under his breath when he encounters one, and he will be quick to slam it with his rake, send it flying across the tile into a wall, or simply stomping on it with his bare foot. when he picks up a flower pot to sweep under it often 3 or 4 will scuttle out from under, claws raised menacingly and he sets to work on them. one day the old man was slow to bring his foot down on an unlucky crab who managed to raise it´s claws high in the air in defense, as is their manner. the old man brought his foot down on the claws which held fast to the bottom of his foot. shaking his foot the the crab dangled from one claw while the other claw still clung to the old mans heal but was no longer attached to the crab. cursing even more he plucked the parts of the crab off his foot one at a time and slammed the crab into the tile floor. in the subsequent days whenever he encountered a crab he was especially violent in his disposal.