Siesta
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Out of delayed frustration, I rolled over and brushed a gallon of sand out off the cot with a flick of my forearm. Enjoying the newfound smoothness of the unfitted white sheets, I adjusting my head on the pillow and studied the knots on the plywood ceiling.
Slowly my eye lids drooped and I dozed off.
My watch beeped, indicating a change of the hour. 2:00 PM. Still three hours until low tide and it was hot as fuck outside, too hot, I thought to myself. Through the screen window, top 40 hits from yesteryear blared on an over worked set of outdoor speakers. Investigating, I leaned up and peered out at group of European and Australian travels smoking cigarettes and engaging in some heated conversation. The thick accents, distance, and Lupe Fiasco thumping in the background made it hard to deduct the subject. That Dutch chick sure was steamed. Perhaps they're debating their favorite Dubstep DJ I chuckled to myself. They love that shit.
Rolling over on my stomach I put the pillow over my head. Still more time to Siesta.
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