We took the train
to
Harlem.
We
walked to the
beach to see the
sculpture in the
wild dunes.
Linda had a key to
one of the houses
a few blocks from
the sea.
Once
inside Steven
rolled a joint and
obliged us to smoke
somehow violating
the place.
We
went to a
restaurant overly
collectively run
back near the beach.
It was mussel season.
We worked our way
through a mountain
of mussels.
This
was the turning
of the season.
We
were still rugged up
seeing the Sun through
glass that housed us.
Terrific, Timothy. Always on the edge.
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