The sun came up anyway.

Champagne caught itself on a jagged bit of early morning resistance. I watched the darlings of the sea, dolphins, scissor into a silver fleshed sea of fish. Gulls picked off the carnage like biological bibs.

I wish I could tell you it was beautiful here or a profound thought worked its way like a fast growing vine through my head. No. It didn’t.

I felt like any number of bored French women in the late 17^th century with a longing to jump out any and all windows from the pointlessness of it all. All this meaninglessness.

A sandspur worked its pointed antennae into the back of my bare thigh. Maybe it was trying to upgrade its existence by winnowing into mine. I saved it from that delusion my flicking it off into the shag carpet of dust.

A small mushroom cloud appeared where it landed. The dust slowly resettled.

It was dry. That dry.

"This is the day the Lord hath made, let us rejoice and be bad in it." I rasp as I raise the emptying champagne bottle to the sun. Its heat was already overkill. Thankfully, I had three more bottles of bubbly I had pilfered from the party. The one I had left after making something of a scene.

"I thought I would find you here."

"Consulting your Ouija board again, I see, witch. Satan knows his own." I squint at her over the sunburst of sparkles the morning’s rays make through the intoxicating bubbly.

"No. We have been here together. I remember you saying…"

"Oh. Yes. That failed intimacy. The part where I thought I could trust you. I show you mine, you show me something roughly similar to the obsidian knife preferred by most major Aztec priests. You’re still a cunt, but you can still sit down if you wish." Generously I gesture towards the sandspur patch. She chooses my other side.

"Still bitter I see."

"An art."

Her annoying terrier presses his nose in to my back. I wonder what dolphins would think of canine tartare.

It is a dry summer and now the brittle, impossible Ex shows up likely brimming with platitudes.

The only rain remains that behind my eyes. I offer her a bottle of champagne. She smiles. The corners of my mouth can’t resist her.

There are things to be said about platitudes by the sea. The sunset will fall on a tableau set in tones of brushed yellow and shimmering champagne. Forgiveness is as effervescent as tomorrow.