Once, at the end of September, a few days before leaving, Kirya was finishing up his shift at Root Beere and I headed to the beach to ride my skimboard. The day was turning into a calm, warm evening with a creamy sky, cool silky sand, and peacefully lapping waves. People were strolling philosophically along the shore, young and old couples in love were walking hand in hand, athletic youth were playing some ball game, and little ones were digging around in search of miracle seashells. But amidst all this, there was something unusual, and it took me a while to notice what. On a wooden table not far from the water sat a guy in shorts, a loose shirt, and huge ginger boots. He was playing the guitar masterfully and singing just as well. His music was so soulful and so fitting for this place and time that at first I didn't even notice him, thinking it was coming from inside me, because it reflected everything! It held this beach, this beautiful sky, this kind and beloved city. His songs seamlessly replaced one another, each filled with a calm sadness. Now I realize he was playing a beautiful soundtrack to our 4-month American movie, but back then, when he played the last song and started to pack up, I snapped out of it, sitting on my board with dried tracks on my cheeks. After he left, I sat for a while longer, pondering at the now starry sky, took out two small transparent bottles (one for Sashka), and filled them with everything I could: sand, shells, and of course, the ocean :) Then I went for a ride and returned home soaking wet.