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Hot Rot – Sheree Shatsky

The beach smells of cotton candy; hot spun sugar wrapped cool on paper cones. We sprawl toast on towels, bodies slathered sticky. Zinc oxide ghosts sunburned noses. We flip back to front. Bikini tops pop unhooked one two three. We turn faces right, switch left. Every five minutes, synchronized. Even the beach gets even. Stinking garbage. Dead fish. Rotten seaweed. The girl buried beneath the boardwalk.