This week’s photo prompt is provided by Michelle DeAngelis. Thank you Michelle!
The beachfront’s infested.
I see’em on every slipway, bumping their asses against the fencing. On the beach tangled in fishing nets like red snapper.
I found a pair behind the bar this morning, making out on a crate of Bud Light. Thought it was raccoons going through the trash again.
Meg used to laugh at my bitching, shake her head as she sliced lemons for the evening. ‘Leave ’em in peace. They’re only young once.’
Maybe that’s why I’m angry. Cos that used to be me and Meg rattling beer bottles, slipping into warm, gritty sheets of sand, waking when the sun seared the backs of our necks.
Now I’m here tending bar, slopping out drunks at closing, getting turned over at least once a season by some junkie too glass-eyed to see his way to the register.
And Meg’s in an urn in the back room, my golden girl stored in tarnished plastic.