Electric lights cartwheeled above the promenade and the moon skinny-dipped into the night sky.
The band pulsed pixel colored cocktail music and girls danced shoots and ladders. Their pedicured hands balanced glasses filled with swirls of liquored candy and their voices were like the scattered clouds that wisped and wondered above our heads.
Smoke rose from red-eyed cigars held by bow tie barons while their free hands smacked and snagged on waitresses. Games of empty glass chess splayed out before them on cluttered tabletops, every gambit a hope toward orgasmic endgame.
I stowed my hands in my pockets and looked somewhere beyond the lights where my friend stood in the surf, his pants soaked to the knee. And then I heard what I thought was a prayer, but it was only him.