Down by the pier, the gulls cried under the washed cornflower sky and storm clouds rumbled together in a far corner east. The breeze, the same one shoving against my shoulders as I skid down the long concrete hill, ripped through the red and white striped awnings that hung low over the shops pressed brick shoulder to brick shoulder. Candy colored scooter bikes lined the curbs and dozens of people mulled about the sea of rusted and bent chairs overturned on blackened outdoor tables. My pockets jangled with clacking seashells and my heart thundered in my chest.

Rain slapped my cheek and I darted through swinging saloon doors that I’ve only ever seen in Eastwood movies, listening to the creak-creak that followed as I went further into the restaurant. There were no open booths—the whole cubby-in-the-wall place was packed with people slathered in sunscreen and chatting loudly and indistinctly. The smell of freshly baked pizza hung in the air. I spotted a small corner at the bar – an empty, chrome-colored stool beside the window. When I walked over, I noticed the red vinyl cushion had been gutted and pale-yellow stuffing had spilled onto the floor.

To my left, the boxy window, fogged with grease and dirt, hung a neon crab sign.

It was also red.

I laid my head on the finished mahogany counter as I watched the crab wink at me, people shuffling into buildings. They clutched to the beach towels over their heads, quickly dodged the rapidly growing rain bullets to hide under concrete overhangs and beaten awnings. A child with mismatched flip flops sprinted down the road, waving their hands above their head. The streets were clear now and you wouldn’t have thought it could empty so fast, seeing it just a few minutes before. I swiveled my head back around to a spot a TV the size of a basketball—all rounded edges and thick plastic frame—hanging above the rows of amber colored bottles. Two people, a lady with blonde hair and a man with a green cap, were arguing next to a military bunk. There was a laugh track; it played after every barb. A nurse in white stormed in, her face set in a scowl. I watched them numbly, not understanding their mumble-shouts blaring from the tinny TV speakers. The bartender was swirling a grey rag in a dirty glass. He should’ve put closed captions on.

I sighed and touched the tip of my nose to the smooth counter, trying to sleep as the wind kicked at the windows and the rain quietly knocked. When I did, I dreamt of a beige-carpet room with olive-green chairs and the sound of a laugh track ringing over a tinny TV speaker.