Saturday, June 26, 2004

In the beginning

I awoke today to the smell of the low tide from the beach, as the humid air soaked in every molecule and sent it in a million directions, one of them being my nostrils.

It is a glorious scent, one which holds the memories of the sound of seagulls culling over a crust of pizza, and the 95 degree bedroom in which I would recline and listen to the radio while I ate an aluminum pan filled with spaghetti, and read the newspaper.