CRAB CONSPIRACY

Alex went away for just ten minutes and when he's back to where they placed their towels on the beach, Timmy is nowhere to be seen. All their stuff, of course, left unattended because the rich kid is not used to public beaches, and so he thinks he can just leave everything there and nobody will steal anything. But they are in Viareggio, not at the Four Seasons Resort in Maui where he probably spent his summer from age two to five.

Alex puts down the ice creams and the water bottles he bought and he looks around, trying to spot Timmy in the crowd. They came here early this morning, when the beach was empty, but families have started to arrive and now there's too much people for Alex's taste. That is why he offered to go to the bar. In part was because Timmy can't speak Italian – he's been coming to Italy for ten years, but his American brain refuses the very idea of other languages as necessary – and also because he wanted a little break from the six month old baby nearby.

He's about to resolve to call out for him when he finally spots him, crouching on a rock. He grabs their stuff and joins him. "What happened?" He asks.

"Look," Timmy says. "I think they're having some sort of meeting."

Alex sees them, then. A group of five crabs all huddling together, opening and closing their pinches in the air, doing whatever crabs do. He must admit it really looks like a conspiracy circle. Maybe they are plotting to stab crab Caesar twenty-three times tomorrow.

"They are fascinating," Timmy says with way too much excitement for a bunch of crustaceans.

To Alex the most fascinating thing is him.