Wave-Worn Bricks

I look back at Kate and Sam again. They’re lugging the fish up onto a flat chunk of rock. They probably want to gut it and cook it up on a fire — at least that’s what I want to do. “Okay, we’ll get back in the boat and paddle to the city. From there I’ll pay for you to get to an airport and fly out of here.”

“Fine, let’s go.”

We’re walking back towards them. As we walk I’m noticing that the entire bank is made of concrete, brick, rebar, tiles and all sorts of other junk, and the beach, wave-worn bricks. There’s nothing natural in sight. In some spots along the bank there are piles of stuff — a cylindrical pile of big marble slabs against the bank down towards the lighthouse, and behind me one of what looks like windshields. Kate and Sam are talking about all this as we walk up to them.

Kate says, “I know exactly what this place is. I’m surprised you don’t, Sam, because we have the same beaches right in our home town. Guess you don’t know your own local landscape.”

"Leslie Spit" by Rick Harris, edited by A. Malcolm

"Leslie Spit" by Rick Harris, edited by A. Malcolm