After The Blue Angels flew today, I rode around on my bike for a few hours. It was a nice day, afterall.
When it started getting dark, I headed back through the beach area where there were beer tents and kegs.
The beer vendors were shutting down, sweeping their kiosks and packing their trucks.
I noticed them then.
The people who drank too much, who get to the point where the only thing that will keep them going is another drink.
And they carry themselves this way, as though they are leaning into the wind.
But there are no drinks left, and they are holding onto their last sad, plastic cup of beer as though to let it go would be defeat. They look around for a place to go, a group to join.
But there is less than nothing – there is the activity of leaving.
The crowds are scurrying away, back to normality, back to health, ambition, and comfort.
The red-faced drunks are frantic for the next rush; there is nothing to fall forward into anymore, and they don’t want to settle into themselves.
After the beautiful crowd of people with their friends and children and beach blankets and cameras have picnicked and gone home for a quiet evening, the only ones left are these vampires anxious to not let the poison out of their systems.