A woman in a white bikini stands on the edge of the Atlantic at the very end of October in Delaware. Take that, Miami.
Smell of booze among the observers profound. Everyone – except for Les UDs, natch – clutches a cup with ice.
Conversation next to me.
“Sit down, bud. I need to talk to you.”
“Yeah, what?”
“About your bein’ investigated.”
“Later, man.”
“No. What happened. Why are they after you.”
“Later.”
**************
Marijuana Dog.