Something weird was found the next morning. A wave that wouldn’t crash, and on the other side of the beach from the surfing ones. What gives? Al thinks.
Suddenly 2 killers appear from down the road. “Bang!” he shouts while trying to shoot them dead, quickly followed by “Dang! Forgot to bring the real one.” He’ll have to fight them by hand. Then the immense rolling noise stops and he instead stares straight ahead, wave gone. Mirage?
The killers wink out too. Killed the wave instead? Perhaps he needs more rest. Yes, that’s it. Head back to bed, Al. Back to the beach. You’re dreaming. Head back into yourself and then you can wake up properly. Tom in his head now, he realized. He’d had a rough night of sleeping.
He dreamed that child Shelley owned a rocking horse she loved more than anything else in the world besides her cats and maybe *maybe* her Mom. Made by the same people, by the way, that created that TILE towel rack positioned beside the grown up version of her in that earlier post here. TILE rack, then, like Al had a ball. The mystery continues…
Sunklands 