A Case for Living in Sin

Life’s been beachy since babyhood; grew up in Hollywood, Florida, the ‘hood of sandy mangrove hands where bridalhood doesn’t beach well: the tan of frying pans beaches full belly bodies scathed on the kitchen-beach reef. A bridegroom spells doom at the beachfront ball: tall, tuxed, full of nuts—mansome, handsome, but bad at beach ball. Can’t play the game chain linked, gold-ring synced. A ball and chain is not a jolly volley; a name’s sent over the net. Mrs. ain’t a simple title, or a pimple, pock mark, son spot hot for a little man’s ‘hood. Who has an address at Sand Castle Strip? Single Sally selling seashells by the seashore, that’s who.

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