The tide had pulled back, leaving behind a shore slick with rot. He walked among the wreckage—bottles, bones, something that used to be a car door. The air stank of salt and diesel.
A gull watched from a rusted lamppost, head cocked, waiting to see if he’d fall apart like everything else.
In the distance, the city hummed, its neon bleeding into the fog. A promise and a warning.
He reached into his coat pocket. His fingers brushed metal. Cold, familiar.
Behind him, the waves whispered.
The gull took flight.
The man exhaled, turned toward the city, and kept walking.
Nice foreshadowing. What is he gonna do?