Brautigan At Bolinas Beach

Thinking hard about her, he got onto the bus and paid the thirty cents fare and asked the driver for a transfer before discovering that he was alone.

The bus let him off at Bolinas Beach. The great ball of orange had made it’s daily plunge into the western sea. Darkness settled on the beach like a warm comforter. He walked to the edge of the shore, black-green kelp and foaming sea water swirling about the legs of his faded bell-bottoms, and lit a cigarette.

“Fuck it,” he said, exhaling a plume of blue smoke into the reassuring cool sea breeze. “Fuck it all.”