The girl on the beach dances like she’s never had the chance but has always known how. Casually, rhythmically she corkscrews to the chanteuse on the record player. Her wrists bend slightly. In her hands, she holds invisible drumsticks that lightly brush a set of invisible cymbals. She moves with her eyes closed. In her ruffled white bra top and patterned underpants, she is aware of her body but tries not to be. He watches her till he catches himself. He throws back his head. He throws back his arms. A skinny, boy-teen, he flails in his briefs and open shirt. In the growing dusk they flail together. They could flail forever. Or at least until darkness settles and they are too tired for any task but bed.