There’s an old joke that nobody wants to see a tsunami hit Los Angeles because there’s enough washed-up actors there already.
Too late.
I come across another body on the beach, tangled in seaweed.
She looks familiar. Maybe an actress, starred in a commercial or two.
Toothpaste?
Shoes?
Orange juice?
Something like that.
I snap a few photos, record the location, and call for a pickup as I stick a beacon flag in the sand.
Damn. My last one.
I hate it when they’re kids. That’s just sad, sadder than adults.
Another siren. Wave coming.
I run for higher ground.