Floatin'

Extract

[...] Floatin' Seagulls swarmed above us and prayed their shit would splatter the pristine veneer of the white BMW with the plates DOCTR” parked alongside the sand. The sound of the waves crashing towards us reminded me of where I was glad I wasn't. The sun was blinding me even from behind my oversized shades. My skin was browned and leathery and reeked of Banana Boat. Our conversation was light, we weren't looking to strain ourselves, one word replies were usually adequate. [...]

[...] We did what we wanted, and we were happy. We talked about life and death, music, happiness and love, existentialism and destiny. We talked about ice cream and celebrity boob jobs; we weren't ones to limit ourselves. We talked about our childhoods, which were vastly different, our parents, siblings, school. We talked about the future, we talked about the possibilities, or lack thereof. He was an eloquent bull-shitter. I often got lost in our conversations, his fluency and rhythm sucked me in, leaving me vulnerable to confusion with his weaving, flawed logic. [...]

[...] I sometimes felt the same, like I was violently fighting to resist what I was becoming, the emptiness closing in on me but failing to muster the resolve or the direction I needed to repel it. I still feel it sometimes, the burden that takes so much effort to rid, I'm not always sure I'm up to the challenge. I wasn't sure who I was, nor who I wanted to be, I felt, like his brother, unsatisfied. Again, distracted by my tangent, I gazed longingly at the joint. [...]