Down by the Bay
A gray-haired man I immediately recognized as a tourist by his gaudy new outfit took a last puff on his cigar and tossed the butt into the bay. Against all good sense, I went up to him. “Why would you do that?” I asked, my voice shaking with anger. “Fishermen fish in this water, kids swim in it.”  He seemed surprised by my vehemence. “But it’s organic,” he said, meaning his cigar. The man was evidently a chemist in addition to being an asshole. I turned away from him to look for my boys. They were off in the distance, searching the shoreline for sand crabs that know to bury themselves deep.