Snowdrops on the sand

[muckefuck]

So I did make it to the Lake last night, if only after dark. No moon (too early) and there was some light cloud cover obscuring the stars, especially over the water. I took a longer route than usual, heading north to where the drive ends, although I didn't go all the way to Hollywood Beach. From the look of things--individual men sitting on the backs of park benches--the cruising has moved further north. I wouldn't be surprised, since it seems that most of the people I run into along the Wilson-Foster stretch these days are young opposite-sex couples.

The water was surprisingly calm given the stiff breeze, but it came from the north so I suppose the big waves were slamming the Indiana Dunes. I decided to walk along the water's edge, but gave it up at the Foster St. Beach. Say, febrile, did you settle on a word for that crusty old snow-cum-ice? Because there was a berm of it all along the water, disguised with a sprinkling of sand, that made walking there treacherous and forced me out onto the dry sand. Not even a single dog-walker there with me, which was a bit surprising given that it wasn't even 9 p.m.

I saw more activity just south of there, including a motos couple with their darling nipper. Do anyone of you boys into wedding-ring trade know the codes for parked-car cruising? One SUV had its lights on the whole time; another flashed the blinker facing me as I passed it. (I don't need any interpreter to figure out what was on the mind of the man pacing under the street light who looped in my direction as I walked by.)

The stroll did the trick, though (unless it was the all the kalbi and sansachwun from dinner--or reading a bit of Yi Mun-yŏl's novel, or killing a kitten). In any case, I was asleep within half an hour of getting back home--and my dreams were sweet.