From the Shores of Michi gami

Phoning this one in, my pretties. From a secret beach somewhere on the shores of Michi gami, amongst bikini girls, black cherry ice cream, superman, vanilla peach, round and round as it drips down the cone, sunglasses, lip balm and tan lines; hot sun beating down, the smell of coco oil, beach towels and umbrellas, bright orange, pinks, reds and yellows, deep blue waters, clear blue skies and soft neutral sands; boat horns in the distance, Hendrix from some hidden source, the Police, Van Halen, screams and laughing and Frisbees and volleyball, drinks in hand; skateboards and posturing boys, muscles tight, shorts baggy surf, still, girls abound; mothers on blankets reading books, with husbands asleep and burned and children with sandcastles away with the waves; Sunsets, Oh sunsets! how many more will I see? And, bonfires dotting the shore with glowing, flickering flame – yes, I’m phoning this in.

Anthony Brancaleone