Jim thought about pushing himself up using his arms and his legs. This did not warrant further elaboration, for the bridge tender was on break, and the idea alone, as basic as it should seem, provided little by way of results. Jim had not exercised since he had slung a hammer breaking down walls while in college. But was it really exercise if he was in the process of becoming dishonest? He had broken into that first home in order to turn it into an acquisition. After the initial load bearing slab of concrete crumbled, the ceiling and eventually the roof were on borrowed time. What had been a luxury for a few hardworking students, was now a foreclosure against the young owners who had no money left to make the necessary repairs while keeping the mortgage current. Jim told himself that the place had not been up to code anyway. After all, the supposed impact windows had been opened with the gentlest of knocks and enticed by the merest of justifications-which was why he never needed to exercise, eventually Jim conceded that the reinforced pane of glass, while faulty, had in fact been locked. Sometimes intellectual brilliance overshadowed muscular recognition-breaking and entering countered much that could be ascertained. It was not until he watched the house being wrapped with structural warning signs that Jim flexed his biceps and then his chest. No one would see his brutish side bouncing in a spotlight, it was cold, and his muscles were buried under six inches of layered sweaters and a winter coat. At least the alternative for feeling the sting was palpable, Jim was fine without showing off, in fact he preferred having a secret. Most superheros felt the same way. Now, on the beach, the soft, powdery foundation was as unsteady as the old house. Jim should have already been at the shoreline, even without the deed, if that could ever make sense, but he was no longer of the same unnatural ilk. The last heel was getting smaller as the other women had disappeared behind a towering dune. Actually, it was just a tiny heap of sand randomly kicked up when the women had begun to scatter. Still, Jim had to roll over to avoid breathing it in. Could that be considered exercise, if one day the clump became a castle? He attached one of the fallen forks and angled it from the high point down to a small indentation below. Breathing heavily, he was not sure if the shiny reflection would be enough to entice a curious child to continue the construction. But at least Jim could say, the silver bridge was up to code.