RGs was a ghost town, save for two loners at opposite ends of the bar. Ol’ Mary was likely two hours into a five-hour solitaire session on the TouchPlay. Max didn’t recognize the other guy—early 50s, probably stopping in for a lunch beer. Daisy leaned against the bar, arms crossed, remote in hand, watching a women’s volleyball tournament. Led Zeppelin played softly. It was Friday, a quarter to noon. Max wore his Zig Zag wino slip-ons, which he called the “day drinker’s Air Jordan.”
“Daisy!” he called. She jumped, Max smiled.
“Max, you’re here early. Really fuckin’ early. What’s up?”
“No work today, so I figured I’d hit my favorite spot.”
“Good for you. Nothing better to do with your time?”
He shrugged and lit a cigarette.
“Why don’t you do something? It’s too early for a guy your age to waste time here.”
“Like what?”
“Go to the beach or play pickleball, I don’t care. Seeing you sit here all day’s gonna depress me.”
“Can I get a shot of tequila, please?”
“It’s on the house, but after you finish, you’re out. Don’t come back ‘til later. And don’t go to Rendezvous or Memories—I’ll call and tell ‘em not to serve you.”
“Jesus, Daisy.”
“I’m not kidding, Max. Go to a museum or something. You’ll have plenty of time to waste money at bars when you’re older.” She jabbed a thumb toward the two old-timers at the other end of the bar. Maybe she had a point, Max thought.
He downed his shot and walked out the back door to the alley, lime wedge poking from his lips like a mouthguard. The humidity was more bearable than yesterday. He spat the lime at a crow perched on a dumpster, missing by a yard. The crow didn’t flinch. Max laughed, pulled a crumpled joint from his pocket, and lit it.
He called Rudy. No answer. He smoked, hopped on his motorcycle, and rode over the bridge to Lido Beach.
He sat close to where the waves rolled in. The gulf was calm, clear, and flat. To his left, a flock of royal terns stood with wings splayed, drying in the sun. A breeze off the water challenged their proud stance, making them teeter. More people were out than he’d expected—since COVID, it seemed like people vacationed here year-round. A couple of guys tossed a football back and forth while girls laughed on towels nearby. A Bluetooth speaker blared Morgan Wallen. Two guys Max’s age walked by. He gave a friendly wave, but they smirked, as if Mad Max had washed ashore. He let out a pained yelp, like he’d been stabbed in the ribs. They turned, Max stared at the horizon.
He snapped a pixelated photo of the water on his flip phone and sent it to Jerm with the message, “The water’s so peaceful today. Got me thinking, maybe I’m gay?”
Jerm replied instantly, “Yes.”
Max had been sitting for nearly an hour when the “special beach people” started to gather, as they always did if he lingered long enough. An elderly couple lay at the shoreline, making out, the man’s fingers digging through her red bikini. A Cuban woman stood alone in the shallow water, singing ballads into a microphone clipped to a small speaker at her waist.
He was rinsing off his feet when a family passed by with their son, who had a developmental disability. A man on a nearby bench handed the boy a baseball card, and the boy erupted, shouting incoherently, jumping, and waving his arms. The man watched, expressionless, neither alarmed nor amused.
The boy’s mother approached and gently took the card. “It’s alright, dear.”
She glanced at the man. “It’s a Dodgers card.”
“He doesn’t like the Dodgers?” the man asked.
“Well, they just had that Pride thing, and he doesn’t like the propaganda.”
The man nodded. “He knows what’s evil.” Then he looked at Max and winked.
Max rode his bike to the kayak launch at South Lido Park. Pulling under the shade of a seagrape tree, he saw an old man pushing his kayak into the mangroves. Max wiped sweat from his face with the bandana from his back pocket, tied it across his eyes like a blindfold, and propped his feet on the handlebars. In the shade, it wasn’t hotter than hell—at least cool enough for a nap. His thoughts drifted to friends back in Virginia, the girls he used to tease because he liked them. He hadn’t seen or spoken to them in nearly ten years. It felt like a lifetime, a different life altogether, and suddenly, he felt utterly alone. The mangroves carried their trademark stink, and the quiet enveloped him. A few minutes later, he dozed off.