The Beach


Sven slept at his desk with a small light on, books open and blinds closed. He dreamt of lawnmovers mowing endless plains of grass, until his vibrating mobile phone finally woke him.

“Dude, everyone’s going to the beach.”

“Studying… I gotta - I gotta study.”

“You sound half asleep, you always fall asleep when you study.”

“Its not my fault that guy wrote Cloudstreet.”

“I think you should come to the beach.”

Canned laughter drifted over plates clattering downstairs.

“I don’t like the beach.”

“You like the beach. You’ve ran into the ocean fully dressed.”

“That was different!”

“Five beers different?”

“I just don’t want to go.”

“You’re so miserable.”

A crackly sigh fizzed in Red’s mobile-phone earpiece.

“Fine, I’ll come.”

“Nah, look, don’t worry about it, you’ve gotta study, or whatever you’ve gotta do.”

“No, fine, I’ll come.”

“No, look, don’t come.”


Does anyone else have these really pointless conversations in their head?