I’m at the beach with my best friend, Billy. We’re diving. There’s a cave and tunnels with an opening in the concrete and limestone on one of the banks. Another opening behind large rocks at the far end of the spring.
Our friends Rook, Beedle, Snap and Fuzz are there. I’m swimming under the water looking for an object thrown in - it’s a game we like to play, a common children’s game, but we still haven’t grown up despite our adult bodies.
The sun is out and there’s grass on the banks that is soft to sit on about ten feet above the water line. The wall of the bank is ecru with pebbles and rocks embedded in it in various shades of brown all the way down to the waterline. The water is cool and clear and you can swim to one of the underground caves from the tunnel - a good place to take an extra breath. The tunnel is about three feet by two feet and rectangular for about 5 feet down and then about 15 feet horizontally until it gradually opens into a natural tunnel and, finally, a cave opening.
She knew better than to listen to Chuck Palahniuk while eating breakfast. He rambled on with a firm tone about little boys jacking off in strange ways that would end them up in the hospital while she toasted her bread and tofu slices in a little olive oil in a pan. She was just too lazy at this point to wash the oil off her fingers, dry them and fiddle with the iPad to find something more palatable on YouTube so she let it roll.
The bread was golden on one side and she placed it on her antique blue and white china plate.
“The Arabs really knew how to jack off,” the words tumbled into her ears as she flipped the tofu slices. “The wax in his pee hole could be seen in the x-ray,” small disconcerting vomit feelings required repressing as she spread BBQ sauce on the bread and tossed on chopped lettuce as he went on to say something about little globs of semen in the pool floating about “and thats why they called it pearl diving”.