The Clerk

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As he stood on the beach watching the sunset, Thomas thought about the midlife crisis he wasn’t having. It was his fortieth birthday, and this was supposed to be a terrifying number. He should be grieving over missed opportunities, pining for thin, shining-eyed girls who existed in the lost past, bemoaning the fact that he wasn’t a “success,” and wishing for more “fun” in his life. He should throw off the shackles of his old life and start on a bold new path.

But he didn’t feel like doing that. It seemed immature, and anyway, the day was too gorgeous. Golden late-afternoon light shone on the dunes and beach houses. Willets scurried about, pecking at the wet sand. To the west, the beach houses, the pier, and the tall Scotch Bonnet Hotel were smoky silhouettes. There were only three other people in sight: one far to the west, nothing more than a black smudge, and two people a few hundred yards east, an older couple strolling hand-in-hand down the beach. It was tragic that only four people were out on this section of beach to watch this beautiful sunset, but such was life on the North Carolina coast during winter.

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