In Transit

They debated the most trivial questions just to fill the spaces: Is enthuse a legitimate word or an awkward contrivance? Is it possible for a woman to fully appreciate Sometimes A Great Notion? Is true love verifiable or merely theoretical? They met at a party in Newport Beach on the longest day of the year. By midnight they were lying on the slant of wet sand above the ebbing tide, pants around their ankles, half-numb from beer, he was on top of her, and all she knew was the smell of rotting seaweed, the sound of surf, and something hard and rough scraping the skin of her lower back.

Today’s the last day of summer. They spend it riding buses, criss-crossing patterns over the length and breadth of L.A. on a single fare, taking another transfer chit each time they get off, then boarding the next bus going the other way, riding on and on and never arriving, until finally, as the sun sinks into the Pacific, a perfect red kickball, they say goodbye and walk their separate ways.

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Published by

Ray Sharp

Father, poet, triathlete, local public health planner

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