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Two A.M. Closing time. That's barroom lingo for "it's time to go home". I used to watch as the droves of laughing drunken people piled into each others' cars in a mass exodus when the music shut off. Johnny used to let me stay while he cleaned up. I don't know why, but he must have sensed that I was never in a hurry to get home. He would let me play bartender with translucent bottles and the soda gun. I would mix brightly colored liquids together like a chemist hoping to discover a new drink they could name after me. Maybe he thought I'd go home with him if I got drunk enough. Before long I would stash a couple girly Smirnoff ices in a plastic bag for later. He would sit and smoke cigarettes with me when the bar was clean, and once he was tired enough he'd offer me a ride. I'd smile, shake my head and say, "See ya tomorrow" before I kissed his cheek and hugged him. He'd get into his navy blue PT Cruiser and drive off into the early morning.

It wasn't a long walk home; done the street from the bar where the boardwalk ended and I could enter the beach from the street. I'd walk on the sands under the boardwalk to where I'd stashed my bundle. My heart would quicken as I approached not for fear that it was stolen, but full of worry that some scumbag kid has pissed on it. They never did. I'd grab it up and make my way back towards the water and unroll the blanket. ON rainy nights I'd stay under there. I had two long pieces of beach wood that I'd bury vertically in the sand to prop up my third blanket to try and keep the water off of my face. This night, however, was like most, beautiful and clear, a little cold. I popped open a Smirnoff and began to walk across the shoreline.

~~

The first thing most people ask is "How did you shower?" To which I answer, "however I could". It wasn't that I didn't have friends. I did. I would shower at their houses when I could. It's just that their parents didn't want to get involved. Could you blame them? I was a college drop-out who admitted to drinking instead of going to class. I'd had a great job making tons of money that I quit because of an attack of conscience. I was a nice middle class girl who had made a mockery of her mother's home. At the moment I was a loser. My mother was looking for an excuse to kick me out. So when she finally got one she didn't waste any time at all. She accosted me as I came out of the shower, towel wrapped around me, curls dripping onto the kitchen tile leaving a a trail as I did that little

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