The beach was beautiful. Sunlight shimmered across the water, and the air smelled of salt and sunscreen.
I found an empty spot, unfolded my beach chair, and attempted to drag it across the sand.
The chair became stuck.
I pulled harder.
It barely moved.
“Would you like some help?”
I turned around.
A man stood a few steps away, smiling at me.
He looked to be around sixty years old. He was unusually thin, with narrow shoulders, sunken cheeks, and arms that seemed almost too slender for his frame. Yet his smile was warm, and his eyes had a mischievous brightness.
“I’m beginning to think this chair has made a personal decision to ruin my vacation,” I said.
He laughed.
“Perhaps it simply wants you to ask nicely.”
“Then it will be waiting a very long time.”
He stepped forward and helped me move the chair to a better spot.
