Postcard: Land's End

They ate the oysters right where they found them, shucked them with a screwdriver and sucked them out alive, washed them down with a five-thousand-dollar bottle of champagne they had found. Took the morels from the small paper bag and put them down like popcorn. Some woman's wedding dress and a military dress uniform. The ocean was one deep clouded eye swirling around them, smacking jagged tooth rocks with creamy foam and off the shore, sea lions watched them, their heads bobbing near the wreckage from the marina, which stretched everywhere from the shore. The sun made the shape of a red-roofed pagoda as it went to the horizon and the wind picked up, scouring them, freezing their messy faces. Things were muddling together now and they had no more sense than to climb under some scrub, into an animal skin. And words would not service them, nor cage them any more than meaning could be derived from reading the swirling grime beneath their fingernails.