Maybe East Coaster's beachy romance thread begins here....If I were about 3000 miles west, I'd have thought it was left for @Stonedfish by one of his mermaid friends:
Her flaxen hair spread out over the top half of her near ragged Rescue Heroes themed beach towel. The hazy Montauk Sun would turn her long locks still blonder, tan her long leg and her good arm. She leaned up on her one elbow. A man stood knee high in the surf before her, he had two legs and two arms and one of those arms was fishing with the flies.
East Coaster rocketed his forward cast. He used a thin flexible pole with a line tied to it. At the end of his string was a clouser, an imitation of bait. He cast this offering through the humid haze into a tight ball of peanut bunker corralled in a rip by an absolute frenzy of greedy striped bass. His long fly vanished into the boiling foam, just as his two knees did. The bubbles were agitated by the surf, the jumping fish, and unknown petrochemical and detergent-laden effluents from the Hudson and Delaware rivers that had drifted up to this Eastern-most point of the Empire State. Birds screeched and squawked over the frenzy, hoping for some morsels of destroyed fish.
Mantauk light rotated, it's light illuminating nothing the eye couldn't otherwise see, not strong enough to pierce where the clouser sank among the monsters, among the bubbles. The girl wiped a long sliver of drool away, just before it was about to land on the faces of an almost threadbare rendering of Jake Justice and Billy Blazes, her childhood crushes. But before her now was a different man, a man with many legs and arms, fishing with a pole and string. A man whose rod was about to bend with the weight of something new...
