It’s November in Brighton Beach. A creature with five arms walks by the water. It has eyes in place of hands. Its skin glitters in the sun. Today, it is searching—always searching.
Maybe it needed to be a song. On the other hand, they had already done that. A poem crossed their mind, and they had to laugh (they often had to laugh). It could have been a lot of things. But then, it could only have been one way.