The century old timber was stained with salt, blood, guts and squid ink. Name's, and stern suggestion's of getting fucked, carved into the boardwalk abruptly reminded me that I am far from pioneer status in these parts. I wondered if Tom still loved Michelle? He'd gone to all that effort in 1988 to offer his declaration via an engraving on the pier's structural beam.
I bravely fought the urge to make my own marking on the weathered pier, "Pesty love's you, 2011". It really just lacked that nostalgic feel. Plus, what if a friends girlfriend or wife read it? I'm hardly prepared to be struck down by lightning for attempting to commit adultery. Just keep walking.
