Three days of dirty weather and everyone saw it on their way home from work. It was dumped onto the Silver Strand State Beach parking lot— the keel naked and scabbed with barnacles, the mast canted. Someone said the park maintenance people must have hauled it up out of the surf. It looked like a forklift had punched two holes in the hull.
Some of us came from our homes across the highway to get a better look. We were the usuals who know each other because we walk our dogs: Butch’s mom, Lilly’s mom, Shamrock’s dad, all of us with our plastic bags tied to the handles of our leashes. Drugs, it must be drugs, someone said. Or immigrants. Illegals...[Keep Reading]…