The sand was hot, and there was little else going on at the moment, save for the occasional, apologetic wave that had once seemed forceful and abundant. From the road up above, there had been a singular coating of white foam crashing against the tips of a typecast shore. Now I wondered, had my perspective always lacked motivation? The characters were scattered at random distances from both each other and the ocean, even though they were convinced that they had been convincing while interacting. I knew that the horizon was permanently fixed, which was why the only curvatures that naturally occurred were in the middle of theatrical conversation. Someone should have told the curly haired man that his life was always being re-scaled to fit the variance of his flimsy positions. The old lifeguard was afforded that title and little else. He had done more to keep every person and every possibility away from his imagination, then he had ever protected or extracted from the sea. The others were annoying but were needed to raise my levels of intrigue to a healthier standard of satisfaction. I thought about yelling to drum up some much needed spirit, but ultimately, decided against it. Despite all of my rough drafts, in this lifetime, the Earth would always lie flat.