“They’re Marin County cops. They’re bored.”
“Then I’ll deal with them when the f**k they show up, all right?”
I think of the homeless man skateboarding across Mission Street, dreadlocks hanging around his face, leg stump bandaged in frayed jeans. Would he ever be this blithe about the police?
Ray watches me write in her notebook. A black dog runs down the beach, tongue lolling out of its mouth. Its owner, a DILF in wet swim trunks, waves at us as we pass. Gordon and I wave back. I turn to watch him run.
“So, are you into older guys now, or what?” Ray says, nodding toward the DILF. I shake my head.
“Not even him?”
“Well, not now. If he’s still got his hair in ten years…”
“You’ll be legal in five.”
“Uh-uh. You do not date grown men who f**k teenagers. I can wait.”
“Smart. I dated a
