It's so easy to forget why I left the homeland. On those nights when there's nothing to look forward to and nothing but memories to look back on. Those nights of crippling isolation. Remembering that I'm forgotten is a drag.
Then their are nights like this. And I remember, I came here to not be like the others. Challenging the British to the traditional American Roman Candle war, watching the sunset with North Korea within the range of sight. Salt water. Lying here on a real, ocean beach. Crabs scuttling around, what might be egg sacks.
The tide here goes out a mile and a half. Something to see, a beach double in size in forty minutes. Some rocks were uncovered, a granite formation. I had to check it out. To my delight it was covered in sharp seashells. So I climbed on it. I cut my foot several times and my hand. I'll probably lose one or the other as I walked to the ocean with blood pouring out of my wounds.
They sell bug-zappers shaped like tennis rackets.
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