Last night, we drank like Vikings. We made promises about catching the shark. Fighting it with our bare hands. Strategizing about putting a thumb in its eye if it ever came to that.

     This morning, the room resembled a ward of men dying of dysentery.

     After a few Gatorades, Bloody Marys, Bloody Beers, breakfast sandwiches, and the promise of near-naked women, we stormed the beach like...Vikings.

     The town had turned the shark sighting into a tourist attraction. Every diner had “take a bite” or “grab a bite” written in chalk on its sandwich boards. The old movie house was playing Jaws. Parking at the beach cost forty dollars. I didn’t see an unoccupied space. Thankfully, we had walked from the ho...

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