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Weekly Contest #253
John pulled into the empty parking lot at Press Beach, the faded beige nose of the stolen hatchback stopping inches from the rusty guard rail that separated the pavement from the various shrubs medlied along the bluff that sloped down to the sand below. He cut the ignition and cussed at the sputtering car. He looked all around, scanning the lot, its pebbled oil stains mapped sporadically on the barren grid of flaking bronze lines. He began shedding his clothing in haste, starting with the black hooded sweatshirt and ballcap, all the way...
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