Memory #2 HAMMER

We were on the beach. He was immediately to my right on a beach chair, an old one made of a woven nylon that broke apart over time and would prick you while you sat in it. He was a handsome man which I know from both memory and from pictures even though I didn't consider it at the time.

I cannot help but stare. It's not in disgust or shock but more a curious look at something not ordinary.

He had lost his arm.

This sounds almost comic, as if he could, after some searching have found it, maybe lying under the bushes along a sidewalk.

Hit and run.