Summertime

He was a painter she was his muse, at the time. Being twenty and living on Long Island you have quite an exciting life. As much as most kids their age, they will say their bored. It makes me imagine what being bored and living in Kansas is like. We’re bored of going to the city and our bars, beaches and new cars. Everyone doesn’t have the “life” but we all get a taste of it. Anyone who tells you different is probably lying. This doesn’t go to say their aren’t people who have it rough on Long Island but someone in the Hamptons for the weekend isn’t having it rough.
         There they were in an antique shop. I’ve been there. It’s an old place run by old people with a smell that matches what it sells. They were out of place in this small quaint store. In the smell of old they were sex and candy, full of life and almost perfect, almost. The store was crowded but not by people, there was no one there but them. It was crowded with old stuff. Nothing seemed organized and everything seemed to be a little dusty. It made for a perfect antique shop, if no one ever went into it. The store itself seemed like an antique. I’m not sure how it stayed in business. I’ve decided either the little old lady who runs it has enough money to just continue a vain attempt to sell her old crap or people actually do buy stuff but I’ve never seen that happen.
         All over each other they looked at the antiques and sometimes I think they actually convinced themselves they were interested in buying a few. They were joking themselves. His slim pickings had no change to spare. They were out in the Hamptons at his parent’s house. A painter doesn’t make much money until he gets his break. With his style and luck he didn’t seem close to a break soon. He had the luxury to live off mommy and daddy and be an aspiring painter. He was holding himself back too with his other inspirations, drugs and alcohol. It wasn’t his fault, addiction ran in his family. Life didn’t have its chance to rear its ugly head yet, they only saw its pretty facade.
         They left their escape from reality and went to the beach. He pulled up and parked his thirty thousand dollar luxury sedan. As his door closed a seagull flew over and shit on his windshield. Acting more pissed off than he was and too lazy to wipe it off he cursed, that’s all that was done. It was forgotten about but at the time seemed like it ruined the day. Sand stretched from east to west as far as the eye could see. Soft, rolling, and never ending. Waves broke gently and the breeze was soft, taking the edge off the summer sun. It was a quite part of beach. Not like the crowded public ones. No one else was their and he joked they could see England. She didn’t reply but they were facing south.