The ocean reads like a face today, the bright red crabs tap dance on the deco and I singe one with ash. I expect him to blow up, meat all over the place strings on my face and some on her curly hair (I love curly hair, did I tell?), some over her T’s vast hips that sway like tumbling waves.

‘What are you looking at, honey bunny?’ she squeaks, mass appeal a daily event for her.

‘SSSSSS’ I go. They look at each other. Turn left, eyes facing each other, right to left and left to right. They look back, left to temple and right to chest.

A mosaic of feelings, one under the other, under the other, under a Marlboro, a contemptuous nod and a face full of teeth.

‘T, do you like crabs?’ I ask

‘I love crabs, yeah.’

‘Well, then let’s cook you one,’ I say and let the remains of my second cigarette fall on a solo crab, back to me, as it tango-es to the sea.