It's Friday night in a coastal town in August. Warm enough for short dresses that flutter around thighs and cold beer that sweats into hands.
A perfect evening for wandering, following the music of pop-up street bands.
Feet tapping until dancing is no longer an option but a requirement.
Sweating profusely in a windless alley to a band with a tuba.
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Buying pizza from a tiny joint at 2:30 am to soak up the assortment of beers consumed over the balmy evening.
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The beach is an oven the next day. It's a hazy, lazy day; but the ocean is cold and clears my heads as I swim back and forth along the shore and I grin into the salty waves.
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