They released a report to shareholders saying there are tides so powerful we cannot understand them, we cannot tame them, we can only cling forsaken to a piece of driftwood and squeeze each other’s hands in turn to say we’re still alive.
They said there would be a new fee averaging two-point-eight per annum, on account of their needing to redo the kitchen, which a bear had ransacked, smashing all their fine china and raking red lattices across their naked backs.
I saw a man drown once, trying to save his daughter. She had fallen through a fishing hole, her cries grew pitiful and panicked as she scrabbled for a purchase on the hard slick edge—until, with utter nonchalance, the man removed his blazer and laid himself out belly-down on the ice. And when at last he held her small blue fingers in his own, I heard a crack like snapping bone; and then he plunged.
Thanks to Malcolm for edits.