Elizabeth London

Heart Sick

My legs, warm and slightly pinker than normal from the July sun, were sprawled out before me in the sand. It was a pleasant sand, much unlike the bayou mud I’d grown accustomed to in my many trips to Galveston. These tiny pearls of glass shook off easily as I stood up to go grab another bottle of sugar-free fruity vodka masquerading as a bottle of water. Despite smuggling enough liquor here to make a Kennedy blush, I was at least trying to avoid breaking the rule about glass bottles at this beach.