written by owen

I started walking. By the time I realised, it was too late. I had nothing to do and had ended up on a beach in Negril surrounded by white people reading Harry Porter - foreign people are much more fun in their home country. Red Stripe still 100 dollars. I could not fight the feeling anymore. I had come down with a case of "infinite beach" syndrome.

It happens, like most things in life when you are left unamused at a unenclosed beach. I wonder off like a 5 year child at a supermarket. Kartel clusterfuck. Except with the lack of structure my mind erupts with a wave of endless possibilities. I go into a state of euphoria, there was nothing left in the whole wide world - just me, the beach and people baking in the sun. All the best things in life are free. The beach had to be concurred, wrinkle free.

An hour, 3 topless women, 1 nude man, 10 hotels and 4 miles later I ended up at a dock, with sea gulls and a big white boat called "Wild Thing". My calves hurting, the snickers were melting in my pocket. The return trip always shorter because you've seen it all before, never save anything for the swim back. I was done, the beach ended and I was still alive.

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