Puppies on a leash refraining from immersing in the waves. Shadows of disabled stink. They re rotted fish on beaten shores. Just like milk and veins in shrimp. Their stench, an omnipresent threat.
Wheelchairs are albatrosses.
I am rolling on my own. Squirting stoic on my leg like foamy creme of blessing clouds. Motion is the Id demanded. Shaving slowly what remains.