Right on cue, something deviated from the motionless tableau and rocked with the gentle motion of the constant sea. Just gently at first, not in a big rush to break from the herd. It sat out on the water, amongst people standing in the shallow surf like statues baking in the sun, and inch by inch and ripple by ripple made its way towards the shore. It was an inner tube, rubbery and black and almost the same colour as the strange water with the dark mud at the bottom, and in it sat a man, quite relaxed with his feet and hands drifting through the water. When it got too shallow and the tube just rocked with some anxiety against the sand at every gentle wave, the man said, "Oh," and picked himself up out of it. He was wearing a monochrome striped swimsuit that was a few decades out of fashion but didn't seem entirely incongruous with it himself. Just his bottom was wet from his little journey across the water, which he patted a bit self-consciously before approaching the group of fellow bodies in motion. "Oh, juice, good idea," he approved cheerfully with a nod to Billy.