Last night I dreamed of sweat dripping down my back and down my ass crack. I could feel sweat trickling down the back of my knees. It tickled me and I smiled.
I lit matches and put them in my arm pits to extinguish them. My forehead soaked bandana was used to wipe my side view mirrors clean.
I picked up the faint hint of Coppertone. It did battle with the salt thick humidity. I drank them both in.
I knew the sand was hot. It burned my feet as I walked back to the dunes for some firewood I noticed there.
I casually walked into the surf to cool off. A wave almost knocked me down. The 74º water felt like melted ice on my head.
I woke and layed there, wondering why I live here and not on Cayman Brac. Or in Costa Rica. But then I thought...it could be worser. It was 52º this morning. Not that cold, huh? But cold and miserable enough for me to hate it. I hate it.
From what I read a few years ago, Ned Beaty suggested that the infamous scene in "Deliverance" where he was raped by a mountain man. One of the most re-quoted phrases from a movie would be forever immortalized; "Squeal like a pig!"