Treasure Maps On Paper Serviettes

from by hejguysitisnichole

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Coastal firs fall away as beads of hard earned perspiration take the same trail everyday. A metal detector, like a rifle on the chest, emerges from some verges sudden crest. Just as earthy dusk unfurls and headlights first disturb its surging furrows, they play the strangest freeze-frames, aglow below the grain. It's said some surfers heard explained: "The rightful all-time lawn bowls champion slumps away his tenure at the bar, projecting faces from high school teams on the hockey players bunched up against the overhead TV screens". Since then each season's staff has hacked at what it means after hours in the swimming pool canteen, when, in the bin next to the drinks machine the empty vessels nest in screwed up treasure maps on paper serviettes. (You're a plate pushed away. You're a faint vapour trail.) You are usually viewed through canoes on moving roofs. Just as earthy dusk first unfurls and headlights first disturb its surging furrows, they play the strangest freeze-frames, aglow below the grain, that they later won't locate again. All the waterpark kids at the end of the season that talk until dark sat just hugging their knees have to go, tomorrow, when their parents say so.

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from Skate Chills, released August 26, 2016

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