His hair had begun to gray, his belly had just begun to round. She felt her chest trying to float up, but the blessed undertow, the dreaded reason why she was warned to never bathe in the ocean, sucked her feet down, putting the decision where it belonged, into the hands of God. Her acrid rose perfume oil that hung in the air that smelled like a head shop, her V. Her cheeks were the colour of chalk, her eyes were filled with terror.
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