He strategically placed his towel between two groups of teenagers. How he admired their clothing, their laughter, their smiles. He smiled at no one in particular and unbuttoned his white shirt and pulled off his white slacks to reveal a bathing suit he had purchased with the money he had left over from this week’s paycheck. Luckily, he made a bit more than ten dollars a week more than he had to send back home to his parents.
As he sat upright, his jet black, arrow straight hair almost clouding his eyes, he listened to the sounds coming from the blankets surrounding him.  He could understand none of the words, but the music touched his soul.  He had listened to American music for as long as he could remember.  He had seen every American movie that came to his small city.
His eyes gazed at the water in amazement.  There were waves.  There were people swimming.  And, in the distance, he could even see surfers! He longed to run and dive into the breaking waves. But he could not. First of all, he could not swim.  And then, what could he do with his money and return bus ticket? He was afraid to leave them unattended on his towel, so at least for now, he would just sit.
The sun, even though it was almost three o’clock, was blazing hot and he pulled his knees unto his chin so that his feet would not touch the hot sand.
He turned and smiled at the three girls listening to music on the blanket to his left.  They could not be more than fifteen, he thought.  He strained to