The cool air on this Memorial Day weekend carried the stark stench of saltwater…and hints of last night’s barbecues from the rows of summer homes dotting the beach in either direction. Urban refugees, fleeing from their hardscrabble urban existence that was the Big Apple, slumbered in their beds. Shrieking brakes broke through the silence. A young man, Thatcher Grady, leaped out of his tiny two-door car, not bothering to close the door on the brand new electric vehicle, fresh off the robotic assembly lines of China. He hurtled between two homes, his face unshaven, a mustard stain left on his white collared shirt from last night’s dinner. Thick scruffy grass, un-mowed since last fall, clamored at his shoes, transferring the heavy dew to his dress shoes and dark socks, instantly soaking them, and making his khaki pants darker. He paused at the back corner of the house on his left, pinkish paint peeling off in his hands from the century old structure. Cautiously he glanced around the corner.
What do You think about Pulling The Dragon's Tail?
