There are the walkers with coffee. There are the plodding joggers and the sitting sunrise watchers. There are the hand-in-hand walkers and the couples who walk an arm’s length apart. There are walkers muffled up in hoodies and runners pumping their bare arms. And old ladies, in ones and twos, weaving and winding from kerb to kerb as if they might still be dancing in a 1950s ballroom with the one they loved.
And, of course, there are always the ‘let’s-all-spread-across-the-sidewalk-and-take-up-as-much-room-as-we-can’ walkers. And dog walkers. And a woman who must have splashed through the ocean’s shallows, standing one-legged at her open trunk wiping sand from her feet. And a man wandering the boardwalk with a phone in his hand, who could be waiting for someone. Or even for himself.
And here’s me, trying to remember to keep right not left but forgetting when I run back to the beach, and spit some water onto the rocks, which way the wind is blowing.
all of us