Beach Da(ys)ze

The asphalt, cracked from carrying the burden of a million stories and ten million worries.  The air tastes like specks of salt and smells like smoky sand.  The thrum of flipflops on foot, then ground, foot, ground.  The halfhearted breeze and grainy sand against my skin.  I'm back.  I'm... here.

50 word challenge to keep myself writing.  We'll see where this goes.