West beach, west beach, west beach





 


    Dog is strangely melancholy this morning, seemingly. Who knows what really goes on inside that creature. He ate his breakfast at least. As did we all.

    Rain.

    Bargain hunting for acetaminophen. Star Store lacks complete product line. Get Banshee bread. Head to Freeland RiteAid, score value bottle of item.

    Two 5 gallon buckets of crushed rock - 5/8 minus with binder from Landshapers, buck a bucket, upick. D never out of Subaru.

    S suggests west beach walk with next door D girlfriend, Biera. Off we go as far as where the trees lie horizontally over the sand beyond the bulkhead now gone. Three flat bags of oysters lying at the tide line. D and Biera continue slightly abusive relationship which exhausts them. 

    After all that, I create burst cherry tomato pasta which is acceptable, but not exceptional. 

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