April Friday, one in the morning, stars are floating in the cold black river. They only shine upward, so you can't see the bottom, the midnight sand that never knows light. Water and starshine conspire to fool you, make you think that you're wading when when your feet can't find earth....
Cold sharp sea shells that roll in the breakers, ocean glass worn smooth on the sand. Green beer bottles sinking down to the sand dunes where the shipwrecks are sleeping and the passengers dream....the Captain swears, it wasn't his fault, but then he retreats to the bridge as the windows cave in....
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