A man sits on the beach harmoniously contemplating the sea. Scattered birds zoom above his head flapping their wings into the heights of the blue sky before they plummet like feathered missiles to snatch some prey off the brisk ocean. A white seagull perched on the exposed end of a buoy grooms itself with patience. Sailboats roam about lazily rocking up and down the waves. Two jet skiers slash across the surface, and as they turn in tight angles, curtains of foamed water spray up into the air.

Back on the ground the Venice pier cramps with a mixture of races. They have come to watch each other, to see what life is all about. There are blacks, Anglos, Asian, Latinos… You can see, the aging and the ones who were just born. The rich, the poor, the mediocre and the successful.

A woman and three children wearing clone cellophane headband visors stroll indifferently. A couple of graying men chat next to their parked bicycles, while a youngster in a group of merry Filipinos hooks the bait to the end of his fishing line.

Two girls in bikinis bathe under the sun and burst in loud jolts of laughter when they see a man wearing mirror Ray-bans repeatedly wiggle his tong in and out of his mouth. A blond with bulging breasts rubs Johnson’s baby oil on her forehead.

From inside the bike rental’s storage trailer, Berlin’s “The Metro’s” somber lyrics get forced onto the crowd. “I’m alone, sitting with my empty glass…’

The lonely ones have come to dilute their emptiness as they get trampled down by a cascade of impressions. They are ready to absorb reality from others.

A hungry old woman with scars of sorrow carved on her face scavenges the overflowing garbage cans.

The “Caters 2 U” truck feeds the more affluent. Hippies, joggers, muscle beach hulks, tennis clothes clad patrons enjoy thawed burritos or fried egg sandwiches. There’s food with entertainment. The “Sidewalk Cafe” offers a Trini Lopez, Cat Stevens, Alice Cooper, jack of all voices singer who forced a woman to tell her true age in front of all the lunching customers.

Those who indulge and don’t care who knows it, line up for mammoth ice cream cones at the Home of the famous Roman Orgy stand. The Snack Shack juices oranges for thirsty roller skaters. The ”Shick Shop” markets memoirs. A low budget businessman trikes a display of Venice 25 cents postcards, as his cooper rimmed eyeglasses pile up with dust.