After an eternity had methodically passed, Jim grew tired of feigning confidence while straining to keep his insecurity safely hidden from Woody . In actuality, he had stumbled from the tidal pool only a few seconds ago, just as a peripheral movement was lifting in a blur and then returning quickly towards the perpetuity of the ground. The act had occurred well beyond the bushes that hugged the road, and Jim’s neck was sore from the misstep-as was his pride- so he gave the matter no further attention. No one had responded to Jim as he composed himself and stood, waiting motionless along the shore. Maybe, he had been too convincing, the sand was golden and the sky was blue. People were expected to be fumbling at the water’s edge, just as beach goers were bound to have an occasional question. He took a few steps to the right and headed South, from where the women had come. Clearly, this felt like a good decision. It mattered little that he would be unable to hear any of the conversation between Woody and the women. They had to be so beautiful, after all, it was the beach, soon there would be no more talking. In a strange way, he actually felt happy for Woody. One day, hopefully in the future, when Jim was bobbing in the sea, riding the crests of the grandest of waves, Woody would envy him as well. Jim veered into the cool liquid and immediately noticed the foam wrapping around his ankles. He even sat down for a second or two, yet with all of the adoration that awaited, he did not want to rush things or risk being seen as overzealous. He was now half a sand dune away from where he had left the remnants of his initial plans. Rough drafts were part of any process, and their embarrassing results were easily forgiven. Jim lifted his head and began to walk in an actual direction, his steps were straight and completely dry. There were beach towels and umbrellas that had to be waiting. He slapped his lips together and thought about his rewrite. Next time, he promised to make the women less awful.