Saturday, May 24, 2014

Clearwater Beach

Another 100 word story.

A lot of friends ask why I don't go to Clearwater Beach much, especially during this great summer weather where it's not too hot.  Well I've got crazy hours at work where they rotate me from morning, evening, and overnight (to the point where nurses ask if I sleep in patient rooms and not go home), and also just really, really bad experiences the handful of times I've been there.

If you want to be where the good beaches are, where people your age go to, I'd say Miami.  If you want to come to the "People of Walmart" type of beach, come to Clearwater Beach.  Not that I'm judging, kudos to those people that are comfortable to wear what they want, it just means I'll need shit-tons of therapy and alcohol to deal with it (and since therapy isn't on my benefits, I have to resort to alcohol).


*picture was taken about two to three years ago while I was taking a good friend around Clearwater.

04/20/2014 (Monday)- Clearwater Beach

          It’s different from how I remember—back then it was all about sand castles, catching waves, and talking to seagulls.

          As soon as I stepped onto the burning sands, I couldn’t help but feel out of place: fat naked old men greased up with copious amounts of oil, burning red like hot dogs under the sun, shriveled women clad in two piece strings leaving little to hide, creating an intense need for bleach and alcohol to erase the memory created.

          They all turned to look at me.  Beetle black sunglasses judging, watching.

          I hid my bucket and shovel behind me.