The Death Dream

I am walking around a very desolate neighborhood in what appears to be a southwestern town. It’s hot, dry, dusty, and all of the houses look almost identical to one another with only subtle differences between them. I can tell there are some people home but no one is outside. I don’t get the sense I am being watched, I get the sense that no one knows I’m there.

So-Called Local

I first started writing this story with a lengthy intro—describing how Long Beach Island is so lovely and wonderful, how the food is delicious, how the beer is cold, how the beautiful beaches are sandy, how blah, blah, blah. But chances are if you’ve spent any amount of time on LBI, you already know these things to be true.

So then I decided, screw it— I’ll just jump right in.