Sprout already loves the beach. He floated beside papa, among minnows, he counted ducks and egrets and seagulls, he refused lobster, but enjoyed a fried fish sandwich, and he watched his mama & papa completely relax, and his grandparents mellow out on the sand in the sun.

He's dreaming of building sand castles, of riding that first wave, of writing music that crashes like thunder & lightning, of smothering tartar sauce on his own toasted roll, of feeding a seagull when papa's not looking, of catching the first fish of grey-dawn, of just looking out at horizontal lines, and thinking and thinking more...

Or, maybe, he's just gulping down leftover sea-broth, and sleeping a quiet, calm sleep of ocean-stars.

Or, perhaps, he's like, hey! When are we going back to the city?

But, that, well, it seems unlikely...