I'm sitting on a wide, flat beach on the
Washington coast. The weather is nearly perfect, warm sun, clear skies, a
breeze which is a little too strong. Breakers crash a few hundred feet
from me, choked full of kids and surfers. Mostly naked bodies lie gleaming
in the sun. Cheap plastic kites flutter overhead, bright red against a
liquid blue sky.
A pretty girl in a bikini trips and falls onto
my blanket. Laid out next to me, she looks over, and it's like we're
married. We somehow strike up a conversation. I end up getting into her
convertible and we drive non-stop to Montana. There is a gunfight with
local desperados at our ranch, but we win. With pliers we take the bullets
out of our wounds and make them into souvenir necklaces.
Our crops that year are awesome.