Bevan and the Bird
By Kimon de Greef
Monday 26 September 2010
It's a perfect evening and Bevan's walking down the beach, a spliff and a quart of beer in his hand. There's no wind and the sea is flat, and he's up to ankles in cool, clear water. His jeans are rolled above his knees and his shirt is unbuttoned, and even though the sun has almost set it still feels warm against his chest. He lifts the joint to his lips and takes a deep drag, listening to the crackle of the flame as it slowly burns its way towards his face.
