But this doesn’t feel right, does it? You seem to be getting uncomfortable. It’s probably best to turn away before Whoever-He-Is wakes up and there is talk of cheekbones, like in a three-dollar paperback – with Fabio on the cover – that twelve year old girls try to smuggle out of the drugstore before their mothers see.

I turn the headlights off and wait. I don’t know what for. An answer would be nice. A way somehow to stop thinking and dreaming and remembering how things used to be, how I was happy then, how we were happy then and didn’t even know it.

He checked his front to see if indeed any of the blood had leaked out. So much had leaked out already. His hopes, his happiness, his heart, his sweat, his tequila, his love—all seeped out and spread out onto the beach, only to be stolen by the ocean.