It was a camp fire, a cook out that was obviously winding down. I stood a little ways off while I looked at the people sitting around the dying fire. I was in darkness, and nobody saw me.

The three older people sat together near the fire. One man looked to be in his sixties, a beer in his hand. He wore shorts and a polo shirt, a blanket over his shoulders. His hair was long and gray, wild as he ran his fingers through it.

The two others were in their late thirties or early forties, a man and a woman, half in and half out of a sleeping bag. The woman looked athletic, with straight blonde hair to her broad shoulders. The firelight glinted off her horn-rimmed glasses.

The man was tall and heavy, with a beard and thick brown hair tied back. He looked like a younger version of the old man. He stroked his beard as the old man explained something to them. The old man's eyes were wild and his gestures expansive. The woman lit a cigarette, sagging against the younger man. He took a deep pull on a beer, and then handed it to her.

There were a couple of teenage girls on the other side of the fire, talking earnestly. Both had long hair, one fair and the other dark. The dark haired one gestured angrily in my direction.

I thought she might have seen me, but then I noticed a few yards from me, there was a small hollow in the beach. There was a dark shape in there that I had mistaken for a low bush.

As I looked more carefully, I could see it was moving slowly and rhythmically. It was, I realized, a sleeping bag.

It seemed likely that this was what the blonde girl was angry about.

I moved towards the fire. It was only after I was in motion, skirting the sleeping bag in the hollow, that I wondered why.

a talk with old waldo