On our first evening at the beach, I hovered in front of the sparse offerings of an ice-filled case in a local seafood market. It was, after all, Sunday evening. But the fresh Carolina shrimp looked good, and they were what we had come for.
"Who's next?" called a brawny fishmonger in his early thirties.
I looked around at the other patrons, but none of them acknowledged waiting for service. "I guess it's me," I said.
"What do you need, then, Gal?" he asked me in friendly twang.
Charmed, I placed my order. It's going to be a good week.
"Who's next?" called a brawny fishmonger in his early thirties.
I looked around at the other patrons, but none of them acknowledged waiting for service. "I guess it's me," I said.
"What do you need, then, Gal?" he asked me in friendly twang.
Charmed, I placed my order. It's going to be a good week.
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