He woke alone at sunrise. The hot rays that popped through the window had snapped his eyes open and dragged him from his dream. He wet his salty lips, vaguely remembering the foggy images now slipping from his memory… he was in a crowd… it was hot… and there was the smell of butter.

He could not remember more. He stretched and felt that the pillow next to him was still warm. Her nightgown was left on the floor. She had left a little earlier.

He flung the blanket away. The balcony just beyond the bed let in the sun. The view was glared, but he made out the shoreline and the white crests of crashing waves. She must be out there on the sand, watching the daybreak.

Fragments of his dream returned… she was there too… in the crowd… but was upset… she was crying.

He was suddenly enveloped in sweat. It could have been from his dream’s remnants or the beating sun. He leapt out of bed and quickly dressed. He was soon tapping the elevator button. The door opened. It was full. He would not wait for the next one… he crammed into the box.

The elevator was hotter than his bedroom. There was a dull ding, and the door opened. He exploded out of it, but his body felt hotter still. The hallway, lobby and street were a blur. When his feet hit the sand, he was on fire.

It did not take him long to find her. She wore a yellow bikini, was asleep near the water, and a bottle of tanning butter was beside her. He approach slowly. He struck the sweat from his brow. He fell to his knees at the sight of a trembling kernel on her bare-belly. He squinted as it sizzled…

He then burst from out of his shell.