I'm sitting on the moonlit beach, hair wild and untamed from walking around all day in the sun and wind, breathing in sandy shores and dreamscapes. It's about two in the morning because that's when I get off work...after riding several of the coasters for two hours, of course.
The moon is never bigger than my thumb (!!) and although it looks like it might swallow me whole, I strum my ukulele absentmindedly, soberly.
He'll come up behind me, his locks untamed and wild because although he did not walk around in the sun all day, he couldn't keep his hands from running unconsciously across his scalp. He'll give himself away by chuckling, wondering what in the world I'm doing on the beach by myself at two in the morning.
Of course by that point, he'll have already sat down next to me, not bothering to ask if I wanted company. It didn't occur to him that I might actually have wanted to be alone, especially after mingling with sweaty tourists for twelve hours.
His name is (pick something rugged and sexy) from (pick somewhere that might just sweep me off my feet), and he'll ask me to play him a song...and of course I'll pretend to, I'll pretend to. He stands up, and I wonder briefly if I've offended him with my made-up tunes, but then he saves the moment by holding out his hand.
I take it and we're running toward the water. The moon looks on, jealous.
Our laughter borders on hysterical, or maybe that's my laughter...after all, this moment only happens once and I'm having a ball. We're dancing, dancing, swaying under that white, glaring moon. And then
he asks if I'll be here tomorrow night. And the night after that? And what position do I work again?
.....
I should probably stop daydreaming now. My summer doesn't start for another 3 or 4 months. Hmpf.
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