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All the Pretty Shells

He hung back from us a bit, meticulously gathering the prettiest shells from the beach.  When he looked up, we were yards away.  “Wait. Wait for me,” he shouted.  Before we could turn our attention elsewhere, he jockeyed his way over the rocks still cradling his shells.  “See, ” he beamed.  And with two hands extended he showcased his wares.  White ones and green ones and brown ones. All sparkly.  All refracting in the sunlight.  All gorgeous shards of broken glass.


No Responses to “All the Pretty Shells”

  1. The Man says:

    I love You – still funny every time I read it

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