Since the AT-ST lacks room for our beach chairs, we chose the strategy of simply arriving at the closer beach in our Corolla earlier today. At 8:00 a.m. nearly all parking spots were available. We set ourselves up on the beach which was still covered with shadow and enjoyed a take-out breakfast we had brought. This turned out to be a magnificent idea. Breakfast and a good coffee on the beach at 8:00 a.m. is amazingly sweet.
The occasional jogger passed by and as the sun rose higher they gradually grew in number and variety, from those who seriously thump along with earphones, heart meters, and pulse monitors, to those who are merely strolling but compensate by paddling their arms in the air.
It was a peaceful day today with no bellowing from the bellicose, no evocations of the rectal orifice, no defiant posturing of oneself in front of moving vehicles. It was just a day for the weary to crash on the beach.
One young man with two friends set up about eight feet from us and softly played a guitar and sang songs for a while. He began with "That's All Right, Momma" which he sang gently and in a low-keyed delicate way. It was superb. Then came "Love Potion Number 9," and "Please Don't Talk About Me When I'm Gone." The fellow had a subdued wispy voice and his semi-private concert was a delight. I was surprised that a young man like him would know "Please Don't Talk About Me When I'm Gone." Possibly he's met Michigan J. Frog.
And that is the story for today.
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