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Maybe we can go down to the breakers and watch the waves kill themselves trying to escape the evil waves chasing them. Maybe we will cry.
Maybe the sun will be setting. Maybe we will walk on the jogging path and be careful not to touch the garbage and used needles with our cool shoes.
Maybe we will laugh.
Maybe weird fags will be all over the place. Maybe they will ignore you and stare at me way too long.
Like until I am uncomfortable and divert my eyes to the ground.
All of it.
Weird fags.
Water.
Water birds.
Dead fish. Rock bass with their guts pulled out.
Immigrant children swimming where no Americans will dive.

Maybe the concessions stand will be open.
Or maybe it will be closed tight and little gangbangers will be tagging that shit.
Little Psycho.
Chino.
FTW.

Maybe the air will smell like weed.
Maybe shitty rap music will be rattling a couple of windshields in the parking lot.

Maybe.

Baby.

But listen none of it will bother me. I don't care if the city lies in dust. True story bitch.
Becuz I'll be with you.

And you are so fuckin fine yeah.

And I know that later we will fuck.

And before that you will put my dingdong in your mouth.

The quencher than refreshes. I kiss your closed eyes while you sleep.

LOVE STORY.