Girija Tropp

Paradise Beach

The adrenalin running high and her argument looping in her brain, she grabbed the children and marched past the lounge where the men watched baseball, cheerios crumbling yellow into the folds of their clothes, chased down with warm beer, their feet atop the furniture in pungent socks, and she took her babies away from the smoke, followed by a stray dog wanting adoption, and the sea washed over shoes, blessing, and they went down the main street to buy fish and chips and teenagers shot fake targets in the game arcade, and the noise of them puffed out onto the pavement, leaving her to think about her mundane life, and how she was mad at God for making her care, and here she was, a target for the fat man harassing her to repent, in the name of Jesus, and she was rude and felt bad about this in the same way she felt bad about the bank balance in her HSBC account, and the children kept shooting with their toy guns, pretending that he was the villain.