There's a beach to the north of the city. It's not very scenic, a little rocky, but it's close. It's a place where teenagers can smuggle beer out and have a bonfire. Some say its a little seedy, too, like you can find used condoms or discarded drug paraphernalia in the bushes.
Some say it's a hook up spot for gay men--or perhaps more accurately, married hetero men who slip out of the suburbs and indulge in anonymous gay sex, and then sneak back in their minivans back to their wives and families. In any case, for my wife and I, North Beach is usually a fine place to go for an hour or so after work and just relax.
One afternoon, an older man with a black backpack was wandering the beach. We didn't think much of it, but he seemed to walk past us, steal a sideways glance, pass, go up the beach a few hundred yards, and turn back. I first time he walked past we hardly noticed. The second time we assumed he was just getting exercise. By the third time past our blanket, we began to wonder.
He never approached, only glanced over each time as he passed. On his fourth pass, my wife pulled her bathing suit to the side. "This will either give him what he wants or scare him away," she said. We laughed.
On his trip back, he glanced over, and did notice. He stopped in his tracks for what seemed like a full minute. Then he walked off, and we never saw him again.
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