It must have been a vacation of the windiest dreams. The poke of chalked cues and the scattering of circular colors laid trace upon the green felted tabletop of downward vision. My lonesome stare, unobliterated by the angry swing at the billiard, stretched like a madness fueled by depression and the one track slide rule. Hours passed by, as the sky cried by the jukebox into little receptors fashioned for cigarettes. Though this space in the corner, would be preserved for a quiet scene.

She was an attractive girl, situated on a bench over by an empty table. In penny loafer preparation, I reminded myself of how she might not be my type. Then, I know what I am and I know I have to practice things, and the web of her and her friend was such an invite. I walked over to them and said hi. I pointed to the jukebox and asked them, "Don’t you know I’m this rock star, and this rock star and this rock star, so you’ll have to excuse me if I’m a little bad". "You must be related to?", Beth said.

The ice was broken, so I could reveal who I really was now. She was so great. There was no imagination in her head, no vantage point in her opinions, and no freedom of choice in words. Astounded by this matching personality and characteristic only I thought I possessed, I asked her to the beach for a moonlit walk. It was harmonious weather, and the hermit crab diggers piitter pattered out of feetie way like they were being summoned into a trap of their evolved future.

We met back again with her friend and another fellow, who was breaking from the local military installation. On a sand dune’s step we sat and talked about the ocean’s beauty, the moons barren inequality, and the hotel’s pitchforking stance, the one that invited us all back in to sleep alone. ALONE. PUKES. We had a moment of haze in marijuana, and as Beth asked me to pull her up after a crashing cart wheel, I fell right down into her body as she airbrushed you’re freaking wierd on my shirt.