I spent every waking hour I could on beaches when I was a kid. As a result, I now have to cover every square inch of my white Celtic body whenever I sit there. It’s as if I’m wearing colorful pajamas or something. I’m now the eccentric old guy my friends and I used to make fun of when we were 12 years old. This time I drew the seashells in colored pens, trying to make the same monotonous sketch look interesting. Pelicans and seagulls mock me, kids with swim goggles give me sideways glances as I struggle to see anything on my sketchbook page through my decaying eyes. I returned to Brooklyn paler than when I left.
