Running Past 17th Street

The surf washes along the shore, just reaching my feet. The coolness enshrouds the sole of each foot, reminding me that it's getting too late to go running in.

"It's been a long day."

Glancing to my right, I ask what he means. 

"Oh, I dunno. Just after the drive and everything."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. Still, it could have been worse."

"Uh huh." 

Standing in silence, he leans forward to grab a handful of small stones and begins tossing them into the waves. Picking up a few rocks for myself, I start chucking them out into the ocean too.

"You know, Port, you still throw like a girl."

Towering over me in stature, he moves his grizzled jaw only to laugh at me.

"Laugh all you want, I can still beat you up."

Finally he replies, "All right, see if you can throw a rock farther than this," and he hurls one out farther than I can hope to match.

Clutching a speckled stone in my hand, I nearly rip my arm out of place trying to get it past his mark.

Laughing again, he says, "What were you saying about being a girl?"

"You're blind, bro; mine must have gone at least twice as far as yours!"

"Haha, sure. Whatever makes you feel better."

While rubbing my sore shoulder, I look up and down the beach. To our left at least seven piers jut out into the ocean before the falling dusk blocks anything more from my view. 

"Is everyone already back at the hotel?"

Giving me an odd look while I remove my sandals and stretch, he curtly affirms my assumption and asks, "What are you doing?"

"I think I'm going to go for a run. Take off your shoes and come with."

Hesitating, he asks, "But won't our shoes get stolen?"

"Ha, maybe your shoes, but not my sandals. Come on."

The damp sand mercifully cushions each step that I take, giving me reason to run faster. Porter heaves beside me as we pass one pier after the next. We're forced to take a detour around a fisherman sitting on a cooler next to his fat hound. The sight of his fishing pole puts the nerves in my feet on alert for the next few minutes. Every grain of sand is suddenly palpable as my soles expect a painful hook with each succeeding step.

"Is this the eighth or ninth pier?" Porter manages to ask me through two wheezing breaths. Stopping next to a wooden pillar, I clutch my knees and shake my head. 

"No, gasp this is the gasp tenth pier."

"We've been running wheeze forever; let's wheeze head back."

Running back, I had no idea how far we had come. Now that the sun has gone down, I worry that I won't be able to recognize our section of this monotonous beach. With each step, my feet sink unmercifully into the damp sand; the arches of my feet searing with pain. Damn sand.

At last having passed, I think, nine piers, we stop. 

"Our shoes wheeze should be here wheeze, right?"

Scanning the dark beach from my stooped position, I can't focus on anything. 

"Yeah, gasp somewhere around here gasp. You keep looking."

Lying out on the sand, the waves glint menacingly at me in the moonlight. I just hope that I'm lying close enough for the surf to soak my feet.

All in a Fight's Vindication

Another day has come and not yet gone, and I'm wondering what to have for lunch. Some things never change. I latch my bike to the fence and walk toward the center of the main square. The sun is beating down on us today about as strongly as it ever has. A few people walk by without a word, and I couldn't be more pleased. I need some alone time before I leave.
Settling down on a bench, I watch a Moroccan man showing his son how to tear off bread and give it to the birds. He patiently guides his son's hand with his own to ensure that he doesn't throw the bread with too much force. In a language that I cannot understand, he tells the young boy what to do.
Hold the bread with your palm up. Toss it underhand so as not to frighten them. No, not AT the birds, toss it toward their feet.
Lounging out, I stretch my back across the back of the bench and remove my jacket. Reed is sitting against a tree nearby reading a book. He looks more content than usual today. The young boy is giggling hysterically as the birds jump over each other in order to get their beaks on a piece of bread. Hmm, bread. I want some bread, and some good bread at that. I grab my jacket and begin traversing the square. Visible at the southeast corner there's a grocery store. I'm enormously pleased thinking about lunch today; I'm going to dish out some cash and treat myself. Once inside, I snatch a fruit smoothie off the shelf, pull a full loaf of French bread out of a basket, and head to the meat section. I buy the nicest German sausage that I can find and head back out the door.
Good, my bench is still empty. The birds congregate around my feet as I toss them my crumbs. The bread is soft and the wurst is perfect. Lounging back and commanding my bird army with my any bread-tossing whim, I am king of the plaza. That's right, birdies, I deserve this.
An accented voice interrupts, "Good afternoon. Do you have any money for me?"
My tranquility shattered, I look to my right. Sitting next to me on the bench is a toothless refugee grinning all gums at me; someone is trespassing on my land. I'm in no mood for being hassled, so I offer him his small fee to scram.
"Sure, here's a euro."
Snatching it greedily, he tucks it in his pocket while saying thanks. Eying my wurst and bread, he goes further, "May I have some of your food?"
This is too much. He could buy a loaf of bread with the money I just gave him. "No. You may not."
"Please?"
"No, now please leave me alone."
"This is a public bench. I think I'll stay until you give me some of that sausage."
What a bastard. I lose my temper. I yell. He yells. Hell, we all yell.
Things having escalated within a minute or two, he lunges unexpectedly for my fancy German wurst, and manages to get his grubby hands on one end! I push him away and take it back. He pushes me hard, and I retaliate with a bird king's righteous fist of fury. The small man crashes to the ground and screams bloody murder. Cry, baby, cry, just don't mess with me.
"Webb, what are you doing??" It's Reed.
"He tried to steal my food, so I showed him what's up."
"Dude, you just beat up a bum!! This looks really bad."
I take a moment to stop clutching my hard-fought food and glance around. Sure enough, there's a fairly sized crowd gathering all around us. The look on Reed's face is one of absolute terror; heck, I may as well have kicked a puppy and slapped a hoe to elicit a response of this magnitude. But right now I just don't care. I did what I had to and any judgmental douche can suck it.
As the police arrive in their goofy helmets I begin tossing the bum-tainted bits of sausage to the birds. I suppose I can finish the bread while the cops lecture me.

Standing around in my underwear

At once I snap awake. The same guy is sitting on the couch across from me, still lackadaisically reading his textbook while he spends the majority of his time texting someone; hopefully a beautiful girl worth the time and distraction. I've probably been asleep for awhile, and look at my watch. 2:56. Less than four minutes until class. I've been asleep for over an hour! Jamming my phone back into my pocket and cramming my book back into my pack, I throw on my jacket too with a backpack clenched between my teeth. An exit, right here. Wow, why haven't I used this exit before, instead of walking all the way around to the east side?
I run through the door at full speed as a screech accosts my ears. A fire alarm? Both of my hands are still placed firmly on the door handle as I halt in sickening realization. This is an emergency exit. Six inches from my face, written boldly on the glass, are the words Emergency Exit Only: Alarm Will Sound. Well, they weren't kidding, were they? My heart sinks. Shit.
An eternity turning around, I see everyone around the library looking around confusedly and packing up their things. Bigger shit. I need to go to class. I'll be late if I stay. Looking back at my watch, 2:57. One minute awake so far. Bad things happen when I've been awake for fewer than five minutes. People in my corner of the library are already beginning to spot me, still awkwardly holding the emergency exit open with two hands. No one points, but more and more are looking.
A deep breath before the plunge. Holding my head up high, I release the door and wave, saying loudly, "Hi. Yeah, that was me. My bad, everyone."
Still, no one says anything to me. Not even a chuckle. Pointing toward the front desk, where crowds from the rest of the library are already heading, I put up both arms reassuringly in Moses-style and declare, "I'll go take care of it."
The walk of shame is briefly elongated. Is there some kind of fine for setting off the fire alarm unnecessarily? If so, I am so leaving them with a false name. Hi, my name is Brian Weller, I think with a smirk. The employees at the front desk are packing their things too when I get there. With authority I place both of my palms on the counter. They both give me their attention.
"Hi. Yeah, that fire alarm is my bad. Don't evacuate or call the fire department. I totally just tried walking through the emergency exit."
"Oh," the blond one replies, her face betraying obvious thoughts of laughter.
"So, yeah, just shut that sucker off."
"Okay, we'll get on that."
"All right, well, bye."
"Bye."
I turn around and stride out the door quickly as a few bespectacled bookworms race by. No backward glances for me. I did what I had to do and I didn't even have to give them a name, and I'd rather keep it that way.