White, hot, heat. Frank lay in the sand an old .45 pistol barrow sticking out of the sand like an old elephant trunk in salute.

“Hey, baby,let’s do this,” Frank talked seriously and drew odd pictographs in the sand.

“Won’t we get caught, honey? I mean what would they do to people like us Frank. You damn well justice revolves around a dollar bill. We haven’t got a bucket full of the,” she spoke as if God jammed two straw wrappers up her nose. She gazed at him favoring a left, cloudy floating eye.

We’ll get caught? Yeah with this slut We both get pinched trying to swipe a cotton candy cone.

“You make a lot sense,” Frank said reaching back and throwing the gun so it hydroplaned over the green, salty water and sunk. Without saying one word he started walking to the beach parking lot.

Frank, never said a word; he kept on walking.

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