Juxtaposition

I watch them share.

They share in their jeans, Carharts or otherwise. They share in a drink, plastic cup of beer or otherwise. They share in their highly appropriate shoes, designed for the express purpose of not slipping on the rocky shore, rubber fishing boots or otherwise. They share in lungful of bonfire smoke near midnight on the shore of the Spit that might as well be exhaust ingested outside a savvy New York Agent’s Manhattan office for all the good that sharing has done for the writer, and for the agent, who, after the driftwood burns out share nothing but a good story, which has been written well enough, (which is to say), a stomachful of ash