It was a cold night and most of us weren’t dressed for it. We collected dead wood in the trees and started a fire on the beach. The usual place, but not all the usual people.
Turned out we didn’t have much to say. So, we watched the waves and the day surfers becoming night surfers, like mythical creatures who transformed after dark. Black figures against the gold. We watched until they came to shore, howling and laughing and stinking like ocean, rip cords dragging behind them like tails.
Wild things, that’s what they were…it’s what we used to be.