Stories tagged beach


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... her hair spills like spinach all the way down to her backpack, the top pocket where the bowl and the cinnamon estrange themselves from the coffee.

Blues For Billy C

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It's cool in the morning you don't look like a saver. I be wan, at John's Landing, it kills me begging favors.

Henry, reach!

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I've heard it said that nothing lasts forever. But when I heard this, no one could have made me believe that nothing referred to my Helen. For it was just this morning that I watched her step quite happily onto our porch, and blow me her goodbye kiss, as

Beach Tale

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I should have worn shorts.

What the Bay Broke

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This summer they had reached their fifth anniversary, the landmark they’d dubbed the Bacchanal year. Instead of exchanging gifts made of wood, they’d bought expensive wines and champagnes and emancipated their bodies of clothing for two straight days. The

The Distance Between You

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It wasn't that I couldn’t imagine it. Rather, I could almost conjure the choreography to mind. One of his hands would graze at the side of my face. One finger would extend and stroke me, from my temples to my chin. He would press my body against something


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I thought it was the cry of a bird. Sleeping on a beach for a year will do that to you. They cry out all the time, especially near dawn. I was cold and thinking slow. I was hung over too, so sue me for not paying attention right away.


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these small hearts these late nights we crunch sand they fly kites

A Tiny Love Story, Told in Triplicate

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I think we were supposed to run away with each other long before this. There was that night on the motorcycle, the loud buzzing engine that cracked through the air heavy with rain threat, as we took the backroads and their curves too fast in a rush to get

Freeing Annabel Lee

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It drifted into the sea, I say, when you ask me about home. You’ve only known me for a few moments, so you’re not sure how to gauge me. You laugh, and make an Annabel Lee reference. The English teach in me wants to hug you. The New Jersey in me wants

Campbell & Evans

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He laughed – pictures traveled across his mind of bodies and mouths and the sex and the liquor, he could taste the flesh and the alcohol right then, strong, immediate.

Marks in the Sand (Poetry-Rhythm)

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I am only ever What you seem to be Without the leverage Of sweet reality


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But she knew what she would find. She knew it all the moment she felt the sticky fingerprints behind the slat of her old oak slay bed. The fingerprints that would only be left from a person grabbing it from behind their head. The fingerprints that she


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Antonio and Zeca met on the black and white pavement by Ipanema beach, a few days before Christmas. Zeca had flown in from London that morning. He came back regularly to Rio de Janeiro, often with his wife and kids, but he hadn’t experienced a Carioca sum

Pictures of Mona

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Jersey's ex-girlfriend calls him on a Saturday in the fall and asks if he'll help her find her cat. She says it ran off on her while she was taking it for a walk in the park. He thinks for a second about asking her why she was taking a cat for a walk in the first…