The man, at least 12 or 13 in dog years, limps up the beach. He comes to another old man leaning against the retaining wall with a cane. Their respective wives nod at each other knowingly as the two men spend a couple half-hearted moments sniffing each other. One of the women says to her counterpart, “I never attach his leash anymore.”
“No, God, me either,” the other woman says. She points at her husband. “He hardly knows where he’s at most of the time anyway.”
“Tell me about it,” the first woman says, and then both of them look away as the men drop their drawers and take turns peeing against the wall in go-stop-go prostate-enlarged trickling fashion.