Ashley spread her blanket out on the sand and smoothed out the wrinkles. Then she settled in. People of all ages, sizes, and styles walked by in front of her. She thought about unwrapping her sandwich, but she wasn't ready to fend off the seagulls yet. So she rested back on her elbows and watched. An older gentleman walked by, in a full grey linen suit, with a twisted wooden cane in one hand and his wife holding his other. She had a sundress that brushed her calves, and looked as though she could probably use a cane too, but her husband held her close. A runner came up behind them and called "On your left!" before running past in her neon pink running shorts and lime green tank top. Her ponytail swished back and forth as she ran.

Stasi watched out the window of the SUV as she fingered the lace on her Grandma Ernestine’s dress. She had always loved this dress, the dress Gram had chosen for her wedding in 1946. She loved that it was teal instead of the now traditional white. She’d never seen another dress approach it in pure style. Her mother had agreed to let her wear it for her own wedding, saying “It’s blue enough to count, it’s new to you, it’s borrowed, and it’s definitely old.” And now, here she was, driving around with Pastor Tom, her mother Freya, Martin and his dad Alberto, and Greg and Ruth, hoping to find somewhere perfect for their wedding that night.

She tasted the salsa. Mmm, just about perfect. Maybe another squeeze of lime though? Clara squeezed a small wedge of lime over the salsa, stirred it in with her chip, and tasted again. There we go. She wrote the winning combination down on her notepad next to the bowl, now a bit splattered with tomato and lime juice, and moved on.