Bicyclists and roller skaters vied for the right of way on the sidewalk running parallel to the dwarfed homes, storefronts, and crumbling apartments facing off newly built condominiums with access to ocean views. Out in the water, a few swimmers stood waist deep dodging kelp beds as they waited for a wave they could body surf back into shore. A few dogs chased Frisbees thrown by teenage boys trying to impress girls tanning on nearby towels. The girls stretched out on their stomachs with their tops untied, pretended they weren’t enjoying the prick-teasing as much as the sun. Marilyn O’Connor and Stacey Diamond jogged along the edge of the wet sand marking the tideline. Both in their early twenties, the girls were breathing lightly, not overextending themselves. Stacey’s brown perm was rebelling, billowing full in the breeze. She had large, dark eyes and full lips cocked in a ready smirk. Marilyn played up her resemblance to her more famous namesake, in looks as well as manner.
