Where is the sea? Not there, where the dark street dimmed by high up lights curves with the earth, and not even there, where men grip the neck of beer bottles with easy fingers and watch their mates play pool. Across the road, then, with a quick glance this way and that, for the cars are swift and silent as they chase the dips and hills of the road. A wide stretch of sand rolls away from the wall by the street to the black, frothing sea. We walk to the very edge of the wet, packed sand, and the waves, slithering to the shore like powerful snakes, collapse in a mess of bubbles at our feet. There is nobody else on the beach, and we say nothing to each other, glad only to feel small together, the massive ocean tenderly letting us be.