Sweat rolls down his dark ebony face and glistens in the sun before it plunges off of his nose.  His dark glasses hide his eyes.

“Check out that one,” he says to his friend as a woman slowly walks passed them on the hot sand.

“Naw man, looka the one in the red.  She looks like she wants it.”

They both smile slick slimy smiles as the one in the red strolls in front of them.  They both follow her with their eyes and try to taste her figure. 

“D’ya see the look she gave me?”

“That wasn’t no look.  You’re dreamin.”

“Mmm mmm.  You know what I’d do to that?  She looks like some good ol’ home cookin’ if ya know what I mean.”

They laugh with thick phlegm worming up their throats.  Like school children they watch the passers-by and shallowly comment on the way they look and what they’re wearing while trying to keep their own insecurities secret. 

Two women sit in the hot sand just out of earshot.  They have squeaking folding chairs and faces that scream ‘tourist.’  Their bodies are hidden under flowing floral print dresses.  The two men nearly begin to salivate.

“Looka those two.”

“Momma’s a far way from home.”

“Les go get ‘em.”

“After you.”

“Jus’ talkin’ to ‘em  ‘ll put some dew on those lilies.”

Like cowards going to battle they argue.  Finally, they decide to flip a coin for the fate of who will take the possible shame of rejection.

Headstailsheadstailsheadstailsheadstailsheadstailsheadstails…

The coin pauses in the air and descends to the hot sand below.  Heads.

“Damn!”

The darker man laughs and reaches for his sweating bottle of beer.  The other stands up and wipes the sand off of his slick body.  He approaches the women…

“What’d they say?”

“They said they wanted nothin’ to do with your old ass.  They laughed ‘n told me to go back to the geezer I bin sittin’ with,” he says with a juvenile smile.

They both laugh.

“Well I s’pose we should get back home.  They’re making us pot roast tonight, and I don’t wanna be missin’ out no pot roast causa you.”

They both get up and button up their large bright cabana shirts.  Feebly, they manage to tie their own shoes, but it won’t be too long before they can’t do that anymore.  They slowly semi-drunkenly stumble off of the beech with what’s left of their independence still intact.  With each strained step they take their fragility is evident.

“You seen mucha Mrs. Emerly around the home lately?”

“Naw, but I’m hopin’ since her husband died I might have a chance.”