"I don't know why we are here, but I'm pretty sure that it is not in order to enjoy ourselves." Ludwig Wittgenstein

Sunday, November 22, 2009

Perfect Nails

Walking along the beach, just north of Santa Monica, Lola glimpsed a small, green bottle tossing in the shore break. “Hmmm,” she thought “it’s odd to see a glass bottle these days, everything’s made of plastic.” With her Khaki pants rolled up to her slender calves—the ones that looked so taut in those jet black stilettos of hers---she waded into the shore break to retrieve the bobbing bottle. Inside, she could see a perfectly dry strip of paper, with a few words written in florid sweeping script--- and was eager to remove it, at least at first. She paused for a moment, quiet as a mermaid, as the tide breathed in and out, and the noontime breeze played with Lola’s now unfurled blond hair. She knew the bottle contained a message, maybe even a sign, but she was apprehensive, almost on edge, as she removed the sealed top with her OPI “I’m-Not-Really-a -Waitress” colored nails, taking extra care, as she did, not to chip this morning’s fresh manicure.

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