The Empty Sack

At the beach, I grill hot dogs while Bacon watches Cherry and Coco swim. When I open the back of the van to get out the condiments, a Dollar Tree bag floats gently overhead. I don’t want to be one of those losers contributing to the flotilla in the Gulf, so I jump. And miss.

The wind propels it around the dune and down the road. I’m right behind pounding the sand, huffing and puffing, but the bastard is beyond reach. With each step I hurl my body forward. Dollar Tree drifts. My lungs burn. I kick the sand with my flip-flops.

Why am I still running? Over my shoulder, the car is a half-mile back. I’m chasing a sack that I’m never going to catch. Leaning forward, hands on knees, I let it go.

What have you chased lately?

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