Blue Air Mattress in the Cove
I looked at the water melon seed, torn pineapple fiber, and indescrible brown goo. A handful of tropical warm ocean water lapped onto the blue air mattress and washed it all away. It was gone again. I heaved again. Only stringy, white spit came out of my mouth. Over the last hour, the fare had become less interesting. The sick pain in the gut had turned into searing pain of a muscle worked past the point of fatigue. I kind of like it. There was a sense of surrender. I was no longer thrown by...