Myrtle-Edwards Park, I sit down on the beach and soak in the sun. I laugh at my t-shirt and jeans, they’re practically my uniform, I never wear anything else. A nice breeze, I lay back against a log and read my book. A steady stream of joggers go by on the path above me. A tired-looking man sits among the debris at the other end of the beach smoking a cigarette. A woman wearing layers is picking through the rocks; she hides from the glare of the sun under a giant umbrella. Two girls on lunch break from work run out onto the beach, stop in different places and lay down in the pebbles.
At home I inspect my sunburn: the back of my arms and my face. The area of my neck that was covered by my chin’s shadow and the left side of my forehead (covered by the non-cowlick part of my bangs) are unaffected.