All the seagulls on this beach are laughing at me today, and a man and his son jog along the boardwalk at walking pace. They are wearing matching outfits right down to their red running shoes. The father already exists, but the son doesn’t want to be anyone else.

All the water is made of water today, and the sky is made of sky. There’s a man with a kind face throwing a stick to a golden retriever, and I think he would still try to have sex with me if we became friends. He’d be nice about it, though, and we’d be okay afterward. I think I’d feel okay.

I think that these birds are hung on strings from the stars we cannot see when the sun is out. I think that the sun is made of sun and the sky is made of sky. I think that beautiful women are just women who happen to be beautiful, who lock themselves in bathrooms and cry sometimes about how small their hands are while seagulls laugh at them outside the window.