The Shark Club

by Ann Kidd Taylor

Thirty. What was it about that age? All the clocks ticked louder.

Nothing at all went through my head, only a primal, ferocious instinct to live.

Perry

Perry/Perri

Perri

Perri/Perry - pick one and stick with it.

Along with the shells, we picked up a plastic hot dog bag, an empty bottle of Corona with a rotten lime slice inside, the top of a Styrofoam cooler, knotted fishing line, and a flip-flop.