On The Beach

"What is the worst thing you’ll run into?"

"Where?" I asked.

"In the bushes. In New York, you have to worry about the snakes."

Dad had gone after a plastic bag that had gotten away from him. It went tripping over the sandy beaches of Kailua before disappearing over the dunes. He fished the bag out of the bushes.

"Oh, I don’t know Dad. Maybe just the spiders and the homeless."

Dad wanted me to take a photo of his shadow. I couldn’t figure out why.

“My shadow still looks like it is nineteen.”