I smoked a cigarette with a homosexual while standing on the salty planks of the Santa Monica pier. Mine was a Marb…light. His was a Virginia Slim menthol 100. I lit mine with a Scripto. He wore white tennis shoes…I call them sneakers where I come from. His gaze was admittedly gay but he wasn’t about to confess
I was looking for a low riff…not so much from the Pacific tide; I just wanted to hear some blues.
Or at least a Jack White tune.
The Bubba Gump Shrimp has beer….if you’re hungry. Be prepared for the fried basket bullshit. Why is that? Is there even shrimp in the kelp infested west coast?
I rested down close to the short side of the tide, and I slept in its sandy cushion.