Work Text
Every year the beach is different. The currents change, the tides wash away sand from one end, pile it up against a different breakwater.Over the years, things have become important that once weren't. Things that were important turn out not to matter any more. People drift into their two separate lives, and drift out again. But there's always that one day, every summer, when they go back to the beach.And they drink a couple of beers, and they talk about what might have been, and whether it would have been better than what was.(It's almost as good.)