On the beach in the afternoon, a group of children chased the waves, their screams mingling with the crashing sound of the surf, like a string of scattered beads. They held up newly bought colorful balloons, which wobbled precariously in the wind. One little boy, running too fast, tripped and fell on his bottom, his pants covered in wet sand, but he grinned even louder. People lay on beach chairs nearby, sunbathing, hats covering their faces, their chests rising and falling gently with their breath, occasionally swatting away small insects that flew by. An auntie selling popsicles pushed her cart past, the wheels rustling over the sand. Someone waved and bought a mung bean popsicle; as they tore open the wrapper, ice crystals fell onto the back of their hand, sending a shiver down their spine. On this leisurely afternoon, there was no need to think about where to go later, no need to worry about missing anything; just sit on the beach watching the children run, watching the clouds drift slowly across the sky. Even time seemed to thicken, like melted butter, sweet and cloying.
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