big_foot past overheard_in_conversation: it was a glorious day. a tease, to be sure, but one where being at the beach was the only right call: the sun high overhead in the infinite ceiling, sailboats lazily bobbing in the big bay, teenagers daring each other to run into the ice cold water of the river screaming in delight as their legs turned red. a young man was digging with a short handled garden shovel, a small horde of children helping (or perhaps "helping") with their smaller plastic versions. a woman biked down to the shore, paused, bemused, "and what is this supposed to be?" "would you like to find out?" he grinned. "you can help by throwing water on the sand and helping keep these little terrors from climbing on it." they worked quietly for a few minutes. she looked at him again and started to make small talk. "so what do you do?" "i dig holes." "like professionally? am i disturbing you at work? will your boss be upset?" "i'm actually a martial artist." "oh you teach kids? are these your students?" "no and no. i've been asked but amn't really into teaching." it went back and forth, a kind of sly disbelief on both sides. eventually he sighed, took of his hat and wiped sweat from his brow. "so, does it look like it yet?" "like what? a giant sandpile? how long have you been at this anyways?" "a few days, but i'm making a foot sculpture." "jesus, the pinky toe must be as long as i am tall." 220509 what's it to you? who go blather from