Swim at your own risk. J Bennet Fitts
This lovely and haunting series reminds me of my family's' yearly pilgrimages to Myrtle Beach. After spending hours in the car (snoozing, eating, and coloring in the backseat, no seat belt back then), I would arrive at the golden but slightly faded row of themed hotels known as "the strip". The memories of it bring to mind Kodachrome tones, skin peeling sunburns, and icees that left your tongue stained blue and pink. Fried shrimp. Shell hunting. Putt putt. Summer.
