Islands lost behind a smudge of clouds.
Lone surfer.
Man above it all in an improbable flying machine.
Weekenders debating the temperature of the water.
Young couple overheard: How long do you plan to be out here? he asks.
I'm walking all the way to the harbor, she says.
Get on a boat. Sail away from him, I telepathically advise.
And me. I clumsily drop my mug of coffee into the sand, filling its spout with grit.
Cursing the loss of comfort's brew, I pick it up, spilling what remains on my pants.
Later, in the coffee shop, a young black man enters with his two children. His tee-shirt reads
"I can't breathe."
