Why can't I just get Naked?

So, it’s Summer and the days are warm – warm enough to be on a deserted stretch of beach, naked, alone, alone with the sand and the waves that keep rolling in to tease me to swim. Alone with the tepid breeze that keeps hugging me, gentle bear hugs, the tepid breeze and bunches of washed-up kelp beds. Alone with skeletons of lobsters, globs of purple stuff which I presume is some type of jellyfish, I hope. Alone to be naked, to run into the surf and frolic like I’m ten again. Even if the water is filthy, I don't care... To forget that I have credit card debt, scratches on my stupid car, to forget that my life seems to quickly be going nowhere. That’s not true… the nowhere part, well, it’s partially true. No it’s not. Yes it is.

Alone, until a figure way way down the beach slowly begins to get bigger. Keeps walking towards me. All this room, this entire beach, why can’t you just let me have this little part? There’s still enough for you. Why are you coming down here?? He gets closer; I’m trying not to get pissed. He walks by, as I’m sitting, covering my peep. He looks at me, not interested in saying ‘Hi’, not verbally anyway. He wants to greet my peep. He turns around and walks by again…and again…and again…until the ten year old in me turns 36 and remembers that he has a voice, “Damn it!” I yell, “Go away!!” He goes away. Good, sick fucker gone, unfortunately so is the moment…or at least the innocence of it.

p.s. Now I must confess...it wouldn't have been nearly as repulsive had he not been 130 years old.