You can never hear anyone for the first ten seconds of any class. They can hear you.

The river beneath the overpass is barely more than a creek, a brown trickle of run-off sluice from the surrounding factories that dries up completely in the summer and smells of rank mud.

You don’t know of the courting beforehand. Sea-fields of grass warm in drunken sun.

i. The glossy part of low tide, lights streaming across the sand in lines
in a neighborhood that turns out their lights at 9pm for lack of eager tourists
cold waves cold white, too much foam for beauty, and lack