Monday, May 16, 2011

Pink Palace

The brightly painted cabin was at the very end of the winding Beach Road and its only neighbours during the cold winter were uninhabited, boarded up summer cottages. Mars and Uranus got the shack off-season for rock-bottom rent. With the tourist season about to begin, they would have to be out soon. The place was already a shambles, having endured months of sheltering two young men as tenants. It was about to suffer one final humiliation. The words, “party at the Pink Palace,” started as a whisper, and then became a roar making their way along the grapevine in town.

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