The sand beneath my feet is hard. I touch the rockbed of Terranea Beach. It wasn’t always sandy, here. They made it so around 2009: when the Resort was established. They presently celebrate Terranea Resort’s tenth anniversary.
I now scratch my foot upon the scraggy rock surface. Tourists hover and go about their business around me. The leftward rock perch is popular, today! A small, East Asian girl builds a rock tower to my left; an elderly white couple sits behind me. One of them has Bill Clinton and James Patterson’s novel, The President is Missing. I am not curious enough to ask how it is. I have my own novel, Golden Son, beside my right elbow. I enjoy it so far.
A jet-black chopper passed by above, moments ago. I wonder who sat in it.