Charles Jensen | Writer

The ocean in my mouth is a salty, salty pretzel. I fell into the wave and you laughed, then fell under yourself. The ocean’s essentially an equalizer that way. On a nearby island, rain fell in a billow of sheer curtain. A three-legged dog chased a stick on the beach while we swam, then skipped into the surf. The sun overhead dimmed for a romantic dinner somewhere; we were not invited. Our feet disappeared into slippers of sand. We wore them like dance shoes. We wore them like fins.