The Sands - Part 3
November 14th 2007 06:19
As summer venues go The Sandcastle is pretty special, supposedly only open when the heat is rising the bar serves everything a beach bum might expect, cold beer for the regulars, foreign wine by any measure and of course a full selection of cocktails to weaken the sturdiest of knees.
By far the best seller though was the free bottled water, a huge draw card for locals where the tapped variety was best viewed being poured into a bottomless glass - literally. Had this not been modern Cuba, where life had exceeded the limitations of money years before, management might need to review its policy of free entry before sunrise.
The dance floor was huge but never far from the DJ, the ancient speakers designed for a previous decade of style still translated a transcendental beat well enough. The ambience was serenity itself, how could it be anything less perched on the shore of a crystal blue lagoon with a perfect sunset guaranteed every night.
People got lost every night, somewhere between the compressed sand floor and the angry blue polka dot sky. Not altogether by accident, many came for that very reason but no-one really knew just how lost they might get.
In years gone by, the more or less educated depending on your viewpoint might suppose witchcraft was involved, evil demons or religious savors to blame, today we know its just part of the human condition.
All sorts come to release their souls in the invisible mists of the music, take the freedom on offer to drift alone leaving their troubles at the door. In time their souls and bodies will meet and fall in love again, a fresh fire burning within with a reprogrammed spirit.
Sally escaped the hungry hands of the dance floor, the third night in a row and she was now starting to appreciate this was no ordinary dance club. Anyone watching her path couldn't help but be confused, angling deliberately towards the bar, fighting through the resident bodies, skirting a couple of layers across the face of the bar. Eventually, reaching the far side of the club less than a handful of yards from where she had danced, she squeezed out onto the private beach and drifted to the water’s edge.
Of course this had been no more than an elaborate plan, there was reason behind this elusive course, her unsuspecting prey had been tempted she knew. She'd felt his body stir even without seeing it happen, it would be less than a minute before he too escaped the crowd; she dusted her cheeks and eyelids with a wet thumb, presented herself to the lowering sun above the horizon and waited.
By far the best seller though was the free bottled water, a huge draw card for locals where the tapped variety was best viewed being poured into a bottomless glass - literally. Had this not been modern Cuba, where life had exceeded the limitations of money years before, management might need to review its policy of free entry before sunrise.
The dance floor was huge but never far from the DJ, the ancient speakers designed for a previous decade of style still translated a transcendental beat well enough. The ambience was serenity itself, how could it be anything less perched on the shore of a crystal blue lagoon with a perfect sunset guaranteed every night.
People got lost every night, somewhere between the compressed sand floor and the angry blue polka dot sky. Not altogether by accident, many came for that very reason but no-one really knew just how lost they might get.
In years gone by, the more or less educated depending on your viewpoint might suppose witchcraft was involved, evil demons or religious savors to blame, today we know its just part of the human condition.
All sorts come to release their souls in the invisible mists of the music, take the freedom on offer to drift alone leaving their troubles at the door. In time their souls and bodies will meet and fall in love again, a fresh fire burning within with a reprogrammed spirit.
Sally escaped the hungry hands of the dance floor, the third night in a row and she was now starting to appreciate this was no ordinary dance club. Anyone watching her path couldn't help but be confused, angling deliberately towards the bar, fighting through the resident bodies, skirting a couple of layers across the face of the bar. Eventually, reaching the far side of the club less than a handful of yards from where she had danced, she squeezed out onto the private beach and drifted to the water’s edge.
Of course this had been no more than an elaborate plan, there was reason behind this elusive course, her unsuspecting prey had been tempted she knew. She'd felt his body stir even without seeing it happen, it would be less than a minute before he too escaped the crowd; she dusted her cheeks and eyelids with a wet thumb, presented herself to the lowering sun above the horizon and waited.
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Al Brunswick
Romance Writers
