poured out before bed
Her hair is a mousy brown, pulled back in a lumpy french braid, dark tendrils fluttering in the morning breeze. She sits on a rough hewn bench outside the splintering beach house waiting not impatiently, but expectantly, alternately blowing up and letting the air out from her bright pink inner tube and kicking her skinny dangling legs.
Finally, she spots a grizzled old man departing the beach house, shaking his hands dry and muttering under his breath. She is instantly at his side.
“Oh hi, Grandpa! All ready now?”
The old man takes her smooth hand in his leathery one and coughs, his hard features twisting into an expression I’ve lately seen on a gargoyle positioned on one of the turn-of-the-century buildings in the city.
“A-hack, a-hack, a-HACK. ERRRRM. Ugh. It’s too early, girl. And I don’t know why they insist on putting shards of glass in the toilet paper on this beach. My asshole’s fixin’ to fall off.”
“Oh Grandpa – it’s too pretty of a day to be swearing! Now, come swim with me!”
He shakes his head and grunts.
She only grins and begins to run, pulling her dour elder to thunder along with her.
I hear him laughing above her ecstatic shouts as he heaves her into the clear lake, mark the great smile he wears as he alternately splashes and spins her about the beach.