Andy found the pink flip flops one afternoon on the beach. They lay there on the sandy surface as though someone had just stepped out of them.
Imagining the lovely person who belonged to the flip flops made Andy smile. Silver sequins, bright pink color . . . these flip flops belonged to someone who really knew how to have fun. How to dance through life. How to put play ahead of work, enjoyment ahead of drudgery, humor ahead of dolor.
Andy savored the moment. It was tempting to leave the flip flops on the sand just as they were. It was almost performance art. Andy thought about a new installation featuring the sequined pink flip flops in that new studio space down on Fremont. Would it be all flip flops, small and large, black, brown, jeweled and plain, hanging on seaweed wires suspended from the ceiling, drifting slowly back and forth in the breeze from an off-stage fan? Yes – it was all there in the mind, waiting to be executed.
It was almost too good to be true. A half-dozen thoughts for that studio space hadn’t panned out. But this was the one that would work, Andy thought. It was a pure idea. It was a fully formed idea. It was the best idea so far.
Looking down, Andy had decided to pick up the pink flip flops, the first element in the installation.
They were gone.
Down the beach raced a black dog. Andy could just make out the slash of pink in its jaws.
Maybe there was still time to catch it.