Fell asleep with the lamp half on, back sore, rainwater tap-dancin’ past my window, Mind gone blank from the week I had, whole damn brain on battery-saver limbo. Then I drift. Now I’m high above this coastline, slow tide curlin’ in clean blue ribbons, White sand stretch with the breeze rolled light through the palm tree limbs all whistlin’. Looked peaceful enough that it pissed me off. Like “where the hell this calm been hidin’?” No sirens. No fake deep talks. No stress knots sittin’ behind my eyelids. But the longer I stared, the stranger it got. Wave lines bent in a sideways rhythm. Clouds slid north while the wind blew east. Birds hung still like somebody pinned ‘em. Then this low-cut rumble come under the current, subtle at first but the undertone ugly, Buzzed through the water in stomach-turn pulses, like rusted-out generators hummin’. I’m still coast-float driftin’, but now the whole scene got this wrong-feel tucked in it, Like bein’ alone in a nice hotel then realizin’ nobody else checked in there with you. Beachfront lamps all blink off-sync, boardwalk benches keep twitchin’ crooked, Tide pullback leave black streak tracks where the foam hit sand then split like soot did. Then I hear somebody yell through static: half-yardman slang, half blown transmission, Words all clipped but the tone stay manic, like he been locked underwater spittin’. Now the sea start bulgin’ upward slowly. Not natural neither. More mechanical. Sections lift like hydraulic platforms, saltwater dumpin’ off giant black cabinets. I remember mutterin’, “Nah, I’m good,” right when the skyline fishtail shifted, Sunlight dimmed to this gunmetal color and the whole coast dipped like bad connection. “AYYY...” Voice got nearer. “AYYY...” Jawline jitter. “AYYY...” Chestplate shiver. Then dead quiet. Like the world held breath for a split second with me still in it. “BOMBOCLAAT!” Whole beach shake sideways. “BRRRR-BLAT-BLAT!” Black tide break pavement. Sand burst up where the wavefront cracked, Moon got split through smoke-gray fragments. “BOMBOCLAAT!” Cold sweat. Heart race. “BRRRR-BLAT-BLAT!” Windows vibrate. Tried wakin’ up but the dream kept draggin’, Voice still barkin’, “RUN THAT BACK THEN!” Now I’m movin’ through the shoreline district, bare feet slap where the flood tide smacks, Neon bar signs flash half-dead through the fog mist haze and the bloodshot panic. Tourists froze with their drinks still lifted, fake-ass smiles all stuck and plasticked, One dude pointin’ at the whirlpool spinnin’ like “yo, that’s sick,” then the dock collapsed. Now the cadence break. Whole scene chaotic. Rainwater spray off snapped pylons. Basswave roll through cracked apartment windows, car alarms chirp then die all at once. Quickstep, ribkick, lungs lock, side stitch, blood rush, cold sweat, floodwater climbin’, Slip-grip, salt-slick boardwalk bucklin’, gull flocks swirl in a tight black spiral. Cab lights blink through the smokecloud flicker, drunk folks trip over lawn-chair piles, Somebody screamin’ for somebody’s daughter while the tide rise line keep crawlin’ higher. Then the voice got CLOSE-close. Right beside me. Not loud now. That made it worse somehow. “Bombo-bombo-BOMBOCLAAT Buckshot thunder and the sand gon’ crack Big black wave with the backwash drag Betta wake quick when the sky turn black” Then everything snapped into overdrive: Rapid-pack panic with the backpack draggin’, black sand splashin’ in fractured patterns, Handrail snappin’ and the glass kept scatterin’, fast wind slashin’ through snapped cabanas, Half-drunk dads grabbin’ they panicked families, ash-gray surf keep crashin’ backwards, Flashbulb cameras catch black waves curlin’ like cracked-out animals attackin’ traffic. Still runnin’. Legs burnin’. Whole chest hurtin’. Can’t wake up. Can’t think straight. Can’t hear shit now except that voice keep cuttin’ through everything: “BRRRAKATAKATAKAT-BLAT-BLAT BIG BAD SOUND MAKE THE BOARDWALK SNAP BOMBOCLAAT WITH THE BROADSIDE CRASH WAKE YO ASS UP OR YOU WON’T COME BACK” Then silence. Real silence. I woke up folded crooked in the couch cushions, throat dry, shirt stuck cold from sweat. Apartment dark except the TV glow and them weak little numbers on the microwave. I sat there listenin’ to my heartbeat calm down. Thought maybe it was over. Then outside, somewhere down the block, a car rolled past slow as hell and I heard: “...bomboclaat...” Man. I ain’t slept right since.
