The Beach Girls

Cover The Beach Girls
Genres: Fiction
Friday, it was. The first day of August. It was later on the same month that everything went to hell for just about everybody. Maybe he was, like Joe Rykler explained to me, a catalyst. But I’ve got the general opinion everything was due to go to hell anyway. Things had been working up to it. I won’t deny he didn’t have something to do with it. But it took more than just one man to ruin what Joe Rykler calls a way of life.
It was a fine evening. Breeze out of the east off the Atlantic, moving a
...bout four knots. A pink glow of sunset reflected on the quiet thunderheads out over the Atlantic.
A bunch of us were on D Dock, as usual, lounging around on cushions and chairs taken off the boats. Tin washtub full of ice and beer. I’d set my charcoal grill up on the dock and loaded it. Later on we’d light it and cook the ’burgs.
Me and Joe Rykler and Anne Browder and Christy Yale and Gus Andorian. Bud and Ginny Linder. Alice Stebbins, who owns the marina. Charterboat row is opposite D Dock, and on that evening Lew Burgoyne had come over from there and joined us.
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