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Show Blue Run/34 5. Joey We say our goodbyes in the driveway of the house on Third Avenue-the happy hour flag flying half-mast from yesterday. Cap hugs his daughter, weeps. We embrace awkwardly and stare down at the sprinkler-stained concrete. Bet and Rocky wave and blow kisses. Stern-faced Meg swats gnats It's no longer possible to postpone: we back out onto the street, honk the horn and drive away. This is how the party ends, Cap and Meg stand like stone pillars behind us Three blocks over at ocean side, Third Avenue beach access is a warped wood stairway, high as a lifeguard tower that commands a lookout over this fingernail of the Space Coast White shoreline shines north to Cape Kennedy A schooner in full sail glistens a few miles off like its sailed out of some sea-going pastoral from a lost world, the sort Mama'd hang over the living room couch. This air is good to breathe Down in the surf, the morning's surfers-sixteen-year-olds with immaculate tans and thin waists and gleaming hair-they ride the last of the high-tide waves One old-time fisherman, a straw-hatted geezer who carries photos of a twenty-pound Snook he landed here once, horses out line out from a white surf rod. The night's turtle tracks are |
