7.30 a.m. Marie is on the beach, walking slowly.
She is looking for something that should not be there.
When she sees it, she picks it up.
And places it in the sack she is carrying.
She is listening to music so she doesn’t hear the waves.
The gulls.
The shells beneath her feet.
When the music pauses she looks up and her eyes reach out across the bay.
On Sunday she doesn’t work, so she could lie in.
She won’t.
She will be swimming, as the sun rises over the pine trees and heather.
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