Under The Pier, Near The Water-Drains, We Dug For Answers.

"With your hat like that," I say, "you just need a sword. And you'd be a pirate."

She pushes the hair out of her eyes with the small, yellow shovel.

"How long before the water changes?" I ask, flecks of sand on the cheek.

She digs into the filth.

"At least no one cares," I say.

"Listen," she says, and stops. "You really shouldn't have made her walk more than that." She points at my chest. "You were always doing that." Her hand twists towards the hole. "She knew."

The lights blink between the boards above, and I don't say anything back.