sandy hook

The ferry that we were on took us underneath the bridges of the East River connecting Brooklyn and Manhattan, first Williamsburg, then the Manhattan, then the Brooklyn Bridge. We were on the roof of the boat for this lovely view. The clouds were dark, the trip to the beach seemed like potentially not the best idea and drops of rain hit us every so often. By the time we arrived at Sandy Hook, the sun had broken free of the clouds and the weather was quite hot. I brought a book to read, a magazine too, neither one of which were touched. It's hard enough for me to try to get reading done at clothed beach, too distracted by the human bodies around me, even more difficult for me to do so at a nude beach. We swam in the ocean every half hour or so to cool off, drank vodka that was warm and gross, and looked at the bodies around us. I kissed this beautiful boy in the water. We tried to have sex but neither of our assholes was loose enough in the cold water. I dove under and sucked Jacob's dick for a second. I came in the water, spurts of semen drifting toward the surface and away with the tide like little toots of steam from a locomative in a cartoon. And this world is a cartoon we live in. The sky is beautiful and we walk around in this universe on two feet and there are machines that take us here or there and we do what we will or can and sometimes don't or can't and are brought down by either how we are not free or how we choose not to utilize our freedom.