Thurs, June 24th

Wreck.
Sun blazes through the clouds, my tattoo swelters, darkens and raises off of my back.
The heat culminates and flesh parades down to the water as if it was calling.
Two douche bags on their boat, beyond reach blast rancid classic rock obnoxiously.
The nudes cool in the agua and the douches pull out binoculars. Losers.
Clouds overcast, the sea's empty again.
We smoke, he approaches.

"Have either of you ever worked with an artist before?"
"We are artists."
Period. Fuck off.
"As a model? I was wondering if I could draw the two of you?"
"Not today."
A.K.A. Fuck off.

He wanders back to his preying perch.
At least it's better than the guy who went around asking ladies if they'd like to see his little monster, while grabbing his package.

The sun burns again, the nudes flock to the water once more.