there's a fellow name of frank who comes to the point daily for fifty two years and he put in a ladder and scrubs the algae from the rocks (though frankly i find the longer green hairy algae wonderful to walk on) and calls himself the mayor of the point which is all well and good but he gets a little micro in his management for instance i'm sitting up under a tree and looking down i see him take the stick from this dog i'm sorry i still forgot your name and gender and he tosses the stick down a crack. at first i think he's playing, but the stick is unretrievable without fingers and i hear him chiding the dog for making a mess by chewing the wood. i wait til mayor frank is out of range and go retrieve the stick and see another stick in the same crack. i toss one in the water and it's too far so i toss another and it's just right. then frank comes back and i glances up at me and mutters something about dogs and mess but dogs don't leave the crap people do and who but frank cares about bits of wood on the rocks, people care about glass and bottle caps and putrid things from drunk picnics. that's life. we all share the same point except that a-hole in the lite beer yacht who comes too close to the little people without boats. 
post dat. i'm going back to the point with j.m. coetzee in my shoulder bag. bone chance, kids.