strange, how you remember things, … I just remembered that peculiar mix of salt, sand, mustard and indigestion of eating a hot dog at field nine concession, where the cold wet concrete rubbed against the grit of sand under your feet, you stood staring vacantly, chewing, a towel over your shoulder. The cries of gulls and children in the roaring waves filled our ears, but we weren’t paying attention. The hot parking lot had burned our bare feet as we vainly attempted to walk on the faded white paint of the parking spaces between the cars glinting in the sun, and a recent storm had shortened the beach dramatically, but it still stood, scattered with towels and chairs, sandcastles and umbrellas between the red and green flags where the heart of the summer was wrapped up snug like a baby in her crib, sleeping peacefully in the shade under an umbrella, dreaming a dream of herself.