Gold chain. Bronze skin. Cheese brain. Holes. Yes, Gorgon Zola rules the beach. She strolls, she kicks some sand - the mild man winces, clears his eyes. Despises her. She's tall and cruel and cool as sour cream. His dreams are dry. She'll paralyze - an icepick in his spine. She'll fine him when his wheelchair's parked on double yellow lines. He takes it because he has to... because he's built like stale spaghetti. Zola's pointing the machete - so he jumps!