Ben brushed sand off his flank and propped himself up on his elbows to watch Erica dance in the waves.
Erica whirled naked in the froth.
Nico thumbed through a thick book, flicking his gaze from the pages to Erica’s great breasts.
“Every word a new world.” He said.
“After the spectacle we all became dancers.” Said Ben.
The men stood up to join Erica in the spume.
“How we laugh!”
The Man was drawing an alphabet frieze in the sand with a stick.
He re-used an old joke from the old world.
“E is for ‘Existence is futile’”
Pirates!
Arrant
Vikings!
Indignant!
“No
Gold!”
Sand cities rose on the rippling strand.
Lovers loll, stroll hand in hand,
And swap lips and tongues in swinging bands,
Bronzed and buff and taut and tanned.
So life goes in the cities of sand.
The Man has finished drawing his alphabet frieze in the sand with a stick.
He plants the stick in the sand.
Evening sun strikes a long shadow across his old face.
Ben towels down.
Erica smokes.
After the dance they all made love.
Caressing Erica’s great breasts Nico cracks a joke about the old world.
How they laugh.
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