The boxer dog presented Ad Magic with a piece of driftwood and began a game of tug-of-war. Soon the two were running around the beach and down to the sea. As the small breakers washed over Ad Magic’s feet, he noticed human excrement in the water and quickly backed away. He looked out at the sea and took in the sight of fishing dhows, backlit by the moon and glowing with tiny amber lights of their own. The boats were making their way—where? The dog tugged at his pant leg, ragging him, and soon she and Ad Magic were roughhousing—chasing each other, rolling in the sand, wrestling. Then Ad Magic was on his feet, jogging down the beach with the dog beside him. Faster and faster they ran until he was running as fast as he could for the sheer joy of it; he had never felt so good—he ran without getting tired, and it seemed that he never would get tired. Wait a minute. He was a smoker. Or was he? He was running effortlessly, like a trained runner, until at last he did begin to tire a little and sweat. So he and the dog plunged into the sea; he disregarded the filth of it and began to swim out into the surf, and the dog swam with him until they were very far out in the warm water. Then they let the waves carry them back in. Ad Magic walked easily in the sand back to the car and the horse, and when he got to the horse he embraced it and rubbed his face against its neck. “Oh, God, thank you,” he said.

“You are okay now?” the doctor said.

“Yes,” Ad Magic said. “I think so.”

“What is ‘ad magic’? You were saying, ‘ad magic.’ What is that?”

“Oh, that. I am an ad writer, and sometimes I feel magic. I tap into a kind of magic. It’s hard to explain.”

Ad Magic reached into his pocket and peeled off ten hundred-dollar bills. The roll was so tight that only the outer bills were wet. He handed the money to the doctor. He felt for his cigarettes and found them ruined. His tin of Powell’s Headache Tablets was also contaminated with seawater. Ad Magic studied the container for a moment. He said, “Listen to this—ad magic. ‘It was a hot day in tough California traffic when a Los Angeles red light made time stand still and gave me a headache like there was no tomorrow. I took  two of Powell’s Headache Tablets and just like that—beep, beep, toot toot—I was ready to roll again.’ Fifty words. That’s my magic. It’s not that good right now. I’m just getting a little. Just a little is getting through—”

“I see, advertising writer.”