part four in a week-long series about the rituals of summer-vacation-taking
the sun is up but the sunrise pinks are still in the sky
and the sounds of flip-flops and tennis shoes slapping against the wood haven't yet begun.
a fat seagull is perched on dumbo's nose
on the flying dumbo ride
right where the shiny gray paint is peeling off.
the garage doors are pulled down and chained on the arcade,
the shop where you can buy jewelry made of fake shells produced in taiwan,
the shop where you can buy airbrushed t-shirts circa 1984,
and the tattoo parlor.
the garage door is up on the doughnut shop
because it's hot in there already
and because the sweet sticky smell is too much
and because there is one more teenager who has yet to arrive for work.
a lost phone chirps a low-battery warning where it was dropped last night in the sand near the trash barrel.
the pavement is heating up down here
as the locals have their coffee in their kitchens
and the tourists sleep off their beers in their hotel rooms and rental cottages.