Hands down

It was as good as a day with your best friends, except you're alone on the bridge with your music and your neon shirt and the cars that drive up, drive down.

There was so much light that maybe some sort of photosynthesis filled those legs, sped up that old rhythm. You came to a stop at the ocean because that's what everyone else did, too: stood and stared at the thick volley of white crests. A respectful vigil.

And for once, you allow yourself the credit of making a good decision. Of being in the right place.