It was Billy Joel's "We Didn't Start the Fire."Īs he got closer to the girl on the beach, Mark couldn't help but admire her. He heard her chanting the chorus over and over. To the girl on the beach, the song must have been an oldie, something from her mother's generation. He recognized the song, which he could remember playing on his Walkman while jogging through Grant Park in downtown Chicago as a teenager. She had a sweet voice, but it wasn't perfectly in tune. The girl splashed and kicked at the surf, sometimes running deeper into the warm water until it rose to her knees. The dark water of the Gulf was as calm as glass, barely lapping at the beach. She danced like a water sprite, with her head thrown back so that her hair swept behind her. She was a hundred yards away, and all Mark Bradley could see was the sheen of her bare skin in the moonlight. The girl in the bikini pirouetted on the wet sand.
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