A woman appeared to the South. She had not been expected, but her presence was hardly considered rude. The woman moved so slowly that she was initially thought to be a large clump of drying seaweed, defiantly lifting in the wind, before it had begun to rot. Soon, the woman began to grow thicker, until her waddling gait demanded recognition and a courteous refrain. Truth be told, she had been on the beach almost as long as everyone else. But only I knew that. It was not the patches of sand cascading down her face that cemented that revelation. I simply understood what slumped shoulders and blinking eyes had always meant. Inevitably, there was another that came behind her, similar in appearance, but maybe a few years older. They all looked the same to me, even if life and the cost of aging could have been more genuine, or perhaps a little kinder. The first woman was now upon the lifeguard. She was struggling to get his attention. I thought about how this could go, but was not sure I was ready to make a wager. Of course, the beach would one day be besieged by perfume and pantsuits. I stepped back, appreciative for the head start. I did not wish to limp off and become irrelevant. There were still strange places I had always wanted to see.