Marvin met Pra and Jimmy at a beach bar for a farewell lunch. After being comprehensively beaten by a gargantuan bowl of Vatapa, Marvin pulled out a holdall packed with herb, necked vials of O and stepped to, clambering to the beach before the H kicked in. Palm trees bordered the white sandy shore and beyond turquoise ocean teaming with bronzed gym fit bodies. Slumped in beach chairs, Pra rolled a long necked blunt.
“Class A man, Yvonne know you smoke?”
“Where do you think I got it?”
“Mother-dick, that’s one hell of a bubble,”
Heads pasty, they started to drift, munching Sequilhos and carrot sticks. A group of topless girls played volleyball, it fell quite, “I must be dreaming.” They were off sky-high, two hours passed in a blink. A cabana boy hauling cold cans emerged, the clinking of cans gently arousing interest. Marvin beckoned; ice cold refreshments delivered comatose relief, scintillating breeze gently coaxed sensation back to paralysed limbs. They watched the sun set and reminisced, cracking up over misadventures and the folly of conquest. The trip had been all the more fulfilling for Marvin and Jimmy knew it. They hugged a heartfelt goodbye leaving an indelible image of the All Saints boy who walked magnificent into the setting sun; the bar had been set stupidly high.