Sixteen young people circled around a piping-hot fire on the beach.
The ocean waves crash in a constant monotone nearby.
Everyone was full of joy, merry.
Speakers blasted classic rock and heads bobbed with the cords of Young, and voices echoed the lyrics of Johnson.
Their eyes glinted in the light of the orange flames.
Franks and marshmallows roast on skewers fashioned from old coat hangers.
As the fire begins to die down, so does the group. People begin to strip away, hurrying to make curfew.
The conversation begins to drift to more somber topics, to Ginsburg and friendship and morality.
Then I shared my thoughts with the group, and we all had a good laugh.
We thought about how this poem will end. With adventure? Will it be happy, or will we be sad to leave each other?