Grey Guts

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It was spitting down all day. Spitting on all the families who had loaded up the campers and headed to the coast for the end of the holidays. Spitting on the windscreen as I rolled through town after town. Spitting on my arm hanging out the window as I turned down another coastal road.

It was muggy as hell. I felt a greasy slick on my skin. Driving makes me irritable. After a few hours I’m a hazzard.

I found a place to camp for the night. The spit turned to a shower and then a downpour. I swam in a grey looking ocean to clean up. To clear my head. The water was like ice on my skin but the surface of the water was glassy and calm. I grabbed handfuls of sand and scrubbed the dirty greasy feeling from my skin.  Afterwards I bodysurfed into a few small waves in the shorebreak. A good way to end the day.

It rained for two more days and I was never dry. The car began to stink of damp. It was a bit of a downer.

It’d be sunny soon enough. Sure.

There’d be better times ahead. Of course.

And it was, and there were. And so on…

 

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