Let's Play A GameMature

Six months ago, we were lounging on the beach on one of the first hot days of summer.  We had parked our bikes on the grass I had just slathered on another layer of my spf 30 before laying down to bask, as much as any naturally pale, skin cancer prone girl could while drenched in sun block.  

Sam reclined beside me on the blanket, her golden tanned skin surely getting darker in the UV rays.  I sort of envied her for that.  Although I suppose my skin, having been protected all these years under a thick layer of sun block, would look younger than hers as we aged.  It would still, however, be dotted with moles and freckles.

"Are you wearing any sun block?" I asked, genuinely concerned, but jealous at the same time.

"Nah, I sprayed some of that spf 4 coconutty stuff on before we left home.  I should be okay." she answered.


About ten feet away from us some girls were opening their bags of food from McDonald's.  One butted out her cigarette and dove into her french fries.  Damn, those things were good.  I couldn't remember the last time I'd had a McDonald's french fry.  Or smoked a cigarette.  How could people be so careless with their health?  I bet they weren't even wearing sun block.  They'd surely get cancer, I thought.  I wrote about them in my journal, the way I normally liked to document my observations of the people around me.  

Sam sparked up a joint and we decided to play a game.  What could we tell about people just by looking at them?  There were the teens and early-twenty-somethings on the big, colourful blanket to our right, with their ghetto blaster on high, and custom beach chairs.  The girls in the group wore elaborate one pieces with asymmetrical cutouts and skimpy bikinis with sequins, and sparkles to match their big, gaudy jewelry.  We doubted they were planning on swimming.  Their hair freshly done, teased and sprayed.  They sipped mimosas and snacked on fruit.  

The guys in the group were what we liked to call 'Chads'.  You know the type, frosted tips, white seashell necklaces, oversized surfer style swim trunks, tribal tattoos.

"Oh man, check them out," I said.  "That's like super douchebag Chad-ville over there.  I bet their heading straight to the club after this.  Unless of course, they have a shift at Cactus Club."  We laughed uncontrollably.

"Oh crap, that guy totally just caught us looking and how he's giving me the eye.  As if buddy!" Sam said.


The End

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