Nice IV

I became lost in back alleyways, avoiding the sun. Streets so lived in, and yet so bare. The opposite of a trip to Epcot, with its families lost in a model world. Dolls in a rubber dollhouse. Waiting to bounce.

Nice III

Laundry out to dry. Soaking up the same sun as lobster red tourists with their visors. Buttered breasts and butts. The daily washing, scoffing, laughing as they strut.

Nice II

Bleached. Plastered. Drenched in salt and sun. Imported sand for the rich to dig their toes in. Saline waves to stick up their nose in.

Nice I

I felt like I could dive right in. A play place with yellow citrus substitutes for technicolor plastic balls. A chance to lose winter socks and 25 cent vended rings.