To loaf around was all he could do beside waste space— or so he thinks. The fish sank his feet in the sand close to the upcoming salty water. He wore some blinding yellow swimming trunks with a white tank top. Feeling too insecure to actually take the tank top off. Nobody wants to see a bag of bones.
He let his hair hang loose over his shoulders. Maybe it was time to actually begin to trim it, or cut it off completely. The thought ran through his mind a few times when he decided to sit in the wet sand. Didn’t cutting your hair mean you let go of your past? Something like that, he thought. Maybe it was time to just let it all go.
He frowned bringing his knees up to his chest. What a stupid way to look at things. Cutting someone’s hair meant nothing. Who was the idiot who came up with that? The gold fish crossed his arms over hos knees and hid his face under his arms and between his legs.