The Coast, No. 8: I-610 Off-ramp
What if I was to just wade out in the water a ways?
I don’t know.
Aw, it’d be a shame not to. We’ve come so far.
Not so far as all that.
Well, it feels far to me, Wiggins to here.
Jesus H. Christ, then. Just go on in, have a blast, but I’d watch out for the sharks.
Aw now it’s just baby sharks… sand sharks… Nobody ever got eaten by a sand shark. My right?
Even so… But don’t you come wailing to me if you get welts.
Welts? What the fuck you talking about?
Welts. That’s what I’m talking about.
What welts?
Welts you get from your toxic chemicals, like lye and chlordane. Caustic shit like that.
You talking burns?
Yeah, baby. And that water’ll make you sickern Pete if you get a sip of it. Trust me.
Well, the water looks fine to me.
Go on… If it’s what you just got to do, then you best go on and do it.
Screw you. I think I will.
Okay by me… but one more thing.
What now?
You see that big culvert right there?
We’re practically sitting on it.
Sewerage, baby.
Shut up! I heard it’s just street runoff water.
Heh. Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.
Well goddamnit. If it’s so bad here, why’d you bring me?
Wasn’t me what brung you but it was that Interstate spur. They put it there to drive straight to this fine beach whenever we want. Like today.
You’re spoilin everything. I wish you would just take me home.
Maybe you should think before you go wishing.
Better yet, I’ll let you do the thinking and I’ll just go swimming.
.
Photograph by D Young. The Coast, No. 8: I-610 Off-ramp. July 1987.
Text by R Young.
studio arago 