Me and my Hero are children on a beach. Me and my Hero find everything hilarious: how pink and juicy our skin is, the eerie water like a humungous lime cocktail in a seedy bar with strippers, the fact my Hero is a mustachio’d man with girl legs and a dress on. We are laughing so much that our bodies contort. We are jumping on the sick-coloured sand so much that our muscles ache. I squeeze the hand of my Hero so much that our hands begin to drip. I scream and my Hero yells. His gob is a big red peach with a bruise right in the heart where his mouth blackens into his throat going down inside. Big words come up from my Hero’s throat and tear out of his mouth, scrambling on his tongue, knocking his teeth out, rushing rushing rushing like drunk sick into the big cocktail ocean that turns from baby green to red. Me and my Hero find all of this hilarious and we are laughing so hard that our cheeks get all raw and juicy. My Hero yells so hard his eyes wobble in their sockets. Then they spin like blue marbles and pop out and my Hero’s peach explodes and he is a big rosy mess on the sick-coloured sand and I am stood there dripping with laughter.