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Bill Rand
Age: 46
Height: 5' 10"
Hair: Dark, loosely curly
Build: Athletic
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He should take the boat out, Bill Rand thought as he waded ankle-deep in the clear water of "his" stretch of beach along Italy's Amalfi Coast. As much as he enjoyed lazing about on the rocky shoreline near his beach house, he still loved taking his boat and exploring up and down the coast, looking for pockets of solitude and beauty amidst the rugged landscape. It was a rather privileged dilemma, of course: He'd been fortunate enough to retire early from the American rat race, and his life now featured such pleasant problems fairly often. But he'd gotten there honestly, albeit with some luck.
Deciding that his proposal had merit, he stopped to reverse his direction, then resumed walking, thinking to head for the local dock where he kept the boat. He was still splashing happily along when he looked a short distance up the shoreline and momentarily forgot about docks, or boats, or much else besides her.
Her.
Whoever she was, Bill hadn't seen her before. Nor was there much reason to think that seeing him would do anything special for the girl who stood alone on the beach. She looked to be in her early twenties: Bill figured it was a tossup whether she would have been able to drink legally where he'd come from, although Italy's laws were more liberal on that score.
She was looking out over the water, wearing a floral print bikini. Bill thought she looked a little lost. It was a flimsy reason to speak to someone but, since he had nothing better, it would have to do.
As he drew more or less even with her, he pitched his voice to be heard across the few yards that separated them. "Buon giorno, signorina," he said by way of a greeting.
Bill Rand
Age: 46
Height: 5' 10"
Hair: Dark, loosely curly
Build: Athletic
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He should take the boat out, Bill Rand thought as he waded ankle-deep in the clear water of "his" stretch of beach along Italy's Amalfi Coast. As much as he enjoyed lazing about on the rocky shoreline near his beach house, he still loved taking his boat and exploring up and down the coast, looking for pockets of solitude and beauty amidst the rugged landscape. It was a rather privileged dilemma, of course: He'd been fortunate enough to retire early from the American rat race, and his life now featured such pleasant problems fairly often. But he'd gotten there honestly, albeit with some luck.
Deciding that his proposal had merit, he stopped to reverse his direction, then resumed walking, thinking to head for the local dock where he kept the boat. He was still splashing happily along when he looked a short distance up the shoreline and momentarily forgot about docks, or boats, or much else besides her.
Her.
Whoever she was, Bill hadn't seen her before. Nor was there much reason to think that seeing him would do anything special for the girl who stood alone on the beach. She looked to be in her early twenties: Bill figured it was a tossup whether she would have been able to drink legally where he'd come from, although Italy's laws were more liberal on that score.
She was looking out over the water, wearing a floral print bikini. Bill thought she looked a little lost. It was a flimsy reason to speak to someone but, since he had nothing better, it would have to do.
As he drew more or less even with her, he pitched his voice to be heard across the few yards that separated them. "Buon giorno, signorina," he said by way of a greeting.
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