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The sea does not ask permission or wait for instruction. It doesn’t suffer from not knowing what on earth, exactly, it is meant to do. Today its walls are high, white lather torn, crashing hard at the sea stacks. “Angry sea,” people say, but to the biographer the ascribing of human feeling to a body so inhumanly itself is wrong. The water heaves up for reasons they don’t have names for.
He gets her underpants down so fast it feels professional.
They started talking about this thing called the Personhood Amendment, which for years had been a fringe idea, a farce.
The beach is a good place for rage: the sky and sea can take it.
