The planets must all be conspiring against us – too much is falling apart or maybe it’s renewal as some wits are wont to quip.
The beach beckons and I must answer. It’s a jim dandy day, hot, filled with promise or lack of it.
Miss Marlowe ventures out the door, pal. Well armed with crazy glue to fill the cracks in my soul.
A kiss clinging to a clump of seaweed is all that remains.