Beachfront. Exhausted-looking woman slumps on a motel room bed. Moonlight through open windows paints her silver.
Her other lover, the one she lives with, is manipulating her with promises. In a burst of insight she throws a potted plant through his French doors and hits the highway. She must be flying: makes the 600 miles from there to here in under six hours. To lie in fetal position whimpering, "I want to die."
By morning she's laughing again, as we dance together down the brown sandy beach. Yet her anguish follows after her like a loyal dog.