Every day the sun sets, and the people walk down to the wharf to watch it, snapping pictures with their cameras and cellphones, their arms encircled about their loved ones, their dogs sniffing each others anuses. Sea birds float above the water, seemingly conforming to the dips and crests of waves with their bodies like silk stretches against the curves of a leg. Joggers pant gently past the scattered sets of sun watchers along the beach as professional photos are arranged of a freshly married bride and her groom standing on a rock against the deepening red-purple-orange of the sky. The colors blend crisply into each other, glistening across wispy sheer clouds draped along the horizon. A mysterious and large ship sits as a blackened speck alongside the sun as it drops into the sea. Everyone is watching, conscious at some level of the seconds that slip so long so fast as the sun glides downward into dusk. Waves swoosh into the shore, swishing against the rocks, a seagull calls, a woman in spandex pants stretches against a pole, and the sun inches towards a singular point of deafening light, fading then suddenly into green absence with an almost audible splash. The people slowly disperse, couples huddled together against the cold back to their cars, as the sunset fades into the subdued hues of evening.