I stand at the roadside.
The sea slides so softly against the sand. Bisbee Bay, a mecca of gentle summer days that last forever. Whose touch on the memory vanish like morning dew.
I state into a postcard.
Gone are the floats of plastic trash. No Styrofoam cups or grocery bags. The place is smaller now. My eyes aren’t the same. The smell is different. The people aren’t families. Their faces carry weight of misery.
I get back in my car. Going back is not always a good idea.
Written as part ofa challenge called Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writersttps://flashfictionforaspiringwriters.wordpress.com/2017/05/22/fffaw-challenge-week-of-may-23-2017/