WHITE CRAB - matt marinovich

My girlfriend got this idea she had to rescue a white crab. Set it free. We were drunk. I still had a fake knife in my head from Tina’s party. The waiter put the crab in a Styrofoam container and looked at us like we were crazy. All the way to the car I could hear the faint clicking of its claws inside. It was nearly two in the morning by the time we parked at Jacob Riis Beach. For a few minutes we just sat there in the car, smoking, listening to the creaking sound of the Styrofoam as the crab pushed against the rubberband. It must have been nineteen degrees, the sand as hard as asphalt all the way to the freezing ocean. My girlfriend knelt down, opened the Styrofoam slowly, like some kind of guardian crab angel. I had to kick the box to get the thing motivated, and then it slowly raised one hairy white claw, another. For a few minutes, it just hunched there doing nothing. Then it headed, with long pauses, back to the glittering city.

Matt Marinovich
Blood Meridian
Cormac McCarthy