I’m strolling on the pier with the gulls overhead swooping endlessly and a shadowy bulge emerges from the tide below — massive whale on the land — it lurches forward on flipper legs, bellowing through its slimy sword teeth. People scream hoarsely; they run, but I’m just standing. There’s something reassuring about this sluggish beast; he’s not beached — no, he has transcended — albeit, drunkenly into our midst. He slithers forward awkwardly — leaving deep flipperprint caverns of oil in his wake. Seaweed gurgles out of his blowhole as he trudges off the sandy beach and on toward Main Street. I shake my head — He’ll only find snow globe souvenirs out there, only plastic plankton on which to snack; and he might devour one go-lucky tourist before being harpooned.

The lifeguard is on his cell phone, waving his arms frantically. I know that Blubber Blue’s revenge will be hazy and short-lived. I can already make it out in his weary, red eyes. The honking horns and screeching tires nudge him closer to catatonia — his movements have slowed considerably.

He has adapted: a product of a hot hazardous existence — the warm bath has worn his soul thin. Now, he, a missing link, sizzles on the blacktop. An opportunist’s delight — road seared, crude drizzled whale steak. The hungry motorists are licking their lips — it’s dinner time and things are getting biblical: Old Testament meets New. It’s manna from heaven and flesh to feed thousands — a traffic jam and a feast for man.

I stand on the pier and tug at my scraggly beard. This is not the strangest thing I’ll see all the week…just the most literal.