Coconut Grove i like driving backwards in the fog

AW!

in a slow lope the derelict clambered the sandy rise, sand scattering beneath his bite-ridden limbs and calloused paws. with a final push the male crested the windbattered dune and rocked to a stop, sending a small tsunami of unearthed sand crumbling down the slope.

he had only one thought: he was hungry. while the grove and its verdant flush was unfamiliar to him, the sea was not -- he was a seafaring man through and through. a quick study of the mangroves that riddled the inlet showed that the tide was low; he could see on their stained roots the mark of brine and decay. he would make for the clear coastline, where he knew tidepools often housed trapped and isolated fish for the plucking.