The soggy floorboards creak underneath my feet as I walk down the pier, my fingers loosely intertwined with my dad’s sweaty hand. Frowning as I look at my flip flops, I wish I could just be barefoot. Why do there have to be rules about wearing shoes in places that are outside? It’s not like my feet are bothering anybody. I just want to feel the texture of the damp wood beneath my soles. I can easily take in the scenery: the yards of open pier ahead of me, the miles upon miles of ocean around me, the strip of beach below, and the shops sprawled out at my back. I can see all of these things, but my feet are currently blind to their beauty.
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