I left the old Alfa Romeo and walked through the scrub. The beach was full of fruit crates, loose planks, cans, and lots of rotted flowers. I reached the water. It wasn’t cold. So I went back to my old Alfa Romeo and started to strip. It was when I slipped my shirt over my head that I realized this was the most beautiful place I’d ever seen and that I wasn’t going anywhere else, that there was nowhere I could go except here. I sat down in the car, lit a cigarette, and smoked, thinking of how to accomplish the only thing it remained for me to do.

The hardest part was stopping myself from swimming. I thought immediately of the suitcases. The two with the books weighed a ton and I would have to take them one at a time if I wanted to carry them out to the edge of the backwash. I looked for two pieces of rope in the trunk of the old Alfa Romeo. I found only one but managed to cut it in half by rubbing it against a fender.

I was about to close the doors when it struck me that I didn’t want to do this in my swimsuit. So I searched in the suitcase with the suits, took out the white one, put it on over my bare skin, rolled up the pants, and walked down to the beach.

I had some difficulty tying the second case to the other wrist, but managed it by using my teeth to help me. I managed to lift the cases. They were heavy, but it was fine for them to be heavy, because otherwise they wouldn’t serve their purpose or would make things more difficult.

I went in. The water was cool around my heels. I looked at the bay, the two great arms of the bay blurry in the sun. I was at the end of my tether, truth be told.

That’s all.