The Blanks (The Shivers Collection, #3)

by Grady Hendrix

Those kids down at the end with “Espresso” pumping out the Bluetooth speaker clipped to their cart could be playing “Watermelon Sugar” or “Uptown Funk” or even—god, that summer we bought the house—“Happy.” You couldn’t escape “Happy” that year.

I grew up in Jersey, near the Shore, so to me beach towns were always hard scoops of overpriced ice cream on a boardwalk packed with angry sunburned parents and their screaming sunburned kids. It was expensive parking and aggressive tourist traps that smelled like fried dough.