We are tired after biking from our place to Whole Foods, then from Whole Foods to Publix, then from Publix to the beach, around 19th Street. That’s my bike you see collapsed on the sand, with my peacoat draped over the front wheel. The rear wheel is nearly flat, but I don’t have quarters for air at the gas station and I haven’t bought a pump yet. Bridget’s bike is propped beautifully on the kickstand. That’s South Beach under O’Keefe’s clouds in the background. Those art deco buildings are party hotels.
One-Torpedo-each-with-ample-bread-and-Gouda later, we’re feeling renewed and sublime. That’s Bridget blowing bubbles a couple hundred feet below a seagull. Those bubbles she’s blowing are from the phial in her left hand. I snuck the nifty phial away from her sister’s wedding. Couldn’t stand the idea of letting bubbles go to waste. The wind sure took those bubbles south down the beach in the beginning, but the ones that are flying in this picture sailed far over the soughing waves.
This is me missing Miami even though I’m still here.