Around 7:30 or so the five of us walk to the beach, the boneyard, my only thought is that at least the sand is pretty.

“Tally-ho.”

“Hey-up”

while John B and JJ carry the pony keg, Pope carries the cups, and Kie and I carry the coolers.  Pulling the keg towards a cleared area in the sand we set up. The red solo cups opened and the keg was tapped. “No. Hell, no.” I watched as they filled a cup, Pope declined immediately.

“I'll take it!” I laughed at JJ as he took the foamed up cup, the foam taking over the bottom half of his face. 

After a while kids in clusters start to show up. Now I'd like to pause and explain how parties work in the OBX.

There's us and our friends. Working class fuckups. From The Cut. Then there are the Kooks. The rich second-homers. They're mostly from poncey-ass boarding schools, trustafarian posers. Our natural enemies. And then there are the tourons. sunburned tourist kids, some with northern accents. Literal Deer in the headlights, totally clueless. Here for a week on vacation with their families. Chum for the sharks. But on this night, I swear on John B's missing father, we were minding our own business.

The kooks came to us.

                                                                 ••••••••

Now this party started like any other had in the past. Me and my friends laughing, drinking, and aimlessly flirting with the tourons.

After awhile i walked away from a touroun who had been following me around for the pas 2 hours like a lone lost puppy.  I laughed again and turned. 

Kiara was near the keg talking, "virgos are, like, so organized. Like, all my friends that are Virgos are like..." 

Instead of walking towards either of them I walked towards the beach, passing JJ who was drinking and jumping up on logs yelling.

I shake my head and walk past pope and cringe overhearinghis conversation with a poor blonde touroun "It's kinda weird when on TV, we see people die, and they just kinda sit there, but in actuality, they would be shitting and farting up a storm." I cringed and walked up from behind them, "well you're not wrong, tell her how they make fake guts and blood." I whispered over his shoulder before hopping on the log they sat on.

"I mean everything is fake, fake blood is just corn syrup and red dye," She became interested again, more surprised that it was such a simple concoction.