An Idiot on the Beach


 

There was something about myself that I didn’t understand, so in the afternoon light of a winter sun I fished it out. It was long, shimmering and eel-like. I stretched it on a rock and flayed it with a sharp knife. I separated its insides into neat piles.

When I went home that day I was anxious, and though I often walk by that rock, I am anxious still.

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