He walked along the beachfront with a cigar.

Nothing unique, nothing special, a twenty something enjoying his youth.  a twenty something stepping on pieces of eroded rock and glass.  this was usual.  there was something that stuck out though, as he walked along the beach he looked down and found a full starfish.  it was still alive even though it was nearing death.

The starfish moved it’s bottom left (he guessed) leg and then stopped.  So, shruggingly he picked it up, threw it in his pocket and kept on walking — carrying the cigar, carrying the life.  He hated it when things made sense.

He walked in the front door, took off his shoes and smiled at himself in that mirror which she for some reason placed right in front of the goddamned door.  It always alarmed him and he thought it was an intruder with a knife (or groceries — whichever he was carrying that night).  Mostly he laughed at himself because he had left the light on in the bathroom, the only remaining incandescent bulb in the house.  He felt like an energy hog, imagining himself as an old furnace in the basement of some worn out old lady’s house huffing natural gas like his Dad drank whiskey.  He looked funny as a furnace.

She was sleeping on the couch again, probably worn out from the day.  He tried to pick her up and carry her to the bedroom but every time he tried she said, “I can walk myself” and proceeded to fall asleep, lightly snoring into the pillow which he thought was pretty damn cute.  After about 8 attempts he pulled out the cot, brought out a sheet and slept next to her.  While he was used to sleeping alone he also knew that when she woke up she would see him sleeping there and rough up the hair on the back of his head like she did and smile and that smile would be enough that he could sleep on rocks.  He thought about this — was he living to make her happy?  No.  He was living to make himself happy, I mean Jesus, he smoked a cigar which tasted amazing but tomorrow would be hell.  He’d sleep on rocks to see anyone he loved happy, he’d sleep on rocks to prove a point.  You can give away your belongings, give away your money, give away your feelings but it only means something if you’re willing to sacrifice your own well-being for just a moment.

Shit.  If he wakes up in the morning and his breath tastes like this shit though…  Ugh, he’ll vomit.  He went to the bathroom, gargled some salt water and brushed his teeth.  The floride was a blessing.  While in the bathroom he thought of the starfish.  He unbuttoned his pants pocket and pulled it out, the carcass was still soft and mooshy like a snickers bar that had been in the back seat of the car for a summer day.  Part of him wanted to eat it, but he didn’t.  He placed it on the couter while he was brushing and it’s top left leg (he guessed) moved — he felt like the biggest douche that had ever lived, it wasn’t dead, it wasn’t dying, it was probably just basking and he picked it up during it’s nap, shoved it into a dark clothy hearse and the buried it on his soft offwhite counter.

Then we went out onto the balcony, had a cry and came back inside.