Chocolate & Vanilla Swirl

I visited the pier for an hour or so, wearing a leather jacket with a pocket full of seashells I'd picked along the way.

My hair was whipped by the wind, freezing rain stinging my face. I paced back and forth, from the shore to the horizon, past shapeless fishermen in cloaks and raincoats.

I watched the men watch the water, and I watched the ships and the sea breaking against the wooden posts.

A man turned his head as I walked by. His black visor covered half his face, and I only saw his chin move.

"You a whore?"
"Pardon?"
"Not a damned umbrella or raincoat, walking uuuup and down."
I slowed down and shook my head no.
"You know it's just us men out here?"
"Yeah, I know it. Not a whore, though."
"Excuse me. I've got a bite." He turned his back to me, but his rod stood still, and he stared down into the waves and didn’t move.

I walked across the beach and alongside the amusement park; smothered carnival music, ancient signs, garbage dancing about my feet.

I dumped my seashells onto the ground, and made my way to the subway.

A black man in a baby blue jersey standing in front of the station doors licked his lips and asked, "Wanna make a chocolate and vanilla swirl?"