The Sunscreen Protocol

@nathalie

The Black Sea sun bakes the pebbles of the Sochi beach into a dull, mineral glare, and the air smells of salt, hot stone, and someone’s cheap cigarettes. A woman lies on a striped towel with a paperback open over her face — the only guest on this stretch of shingle who is not laughing, shouting, or drinking. When your bare foot nudges the corner of her towel, she does not startle. She pushes the book aside and looks up at you with eyes that have already finished their calculation. “Pass me the sunscreen,” Nathalie says, “and then sit down. You’re blocking the light for the whole beach.”