On page 12 of October’s True Story:
I’ll Follow the Sun
Wherever it Goes
The sun had just touched the Pacific Ocean when I arrived at the beach one Friday evening, and I sat in the sand watching it descend. I’d not had dinner, so I’d brought a cheese sandwich and a bottle of cheap wine with me. When half the sun had disappeared behind the horizon I unwrapped the sandwich and opened the wine.
I’d been so wrapped up in my own thoughts that I had not heard anyone approach. Startled, I turned to see the man who’d spoken. Because I was seated, I examined him from the ground upward. He wore black wingtips, dark blue suit pants, and a loosened rep tie over a white shirt with the collar unbuttoned. He carried his suit jacket over his crooked arm. His dark hair, a faint touch of silver at the temples, was closely cropped and he sported the dark shadow of end-of-day beard growth upon his cheeks and chin. Attractive, I’d say, but not handsome.