Early June, the Gold Coast of Palm Bay in Miami.
James, the chubby one, often said that the beaches of Miami are the most beautiful in June.
Above, an endless blue sky, a dazzling sun.
In front, the blue sea, white sandy beaches.
A warm sea breeze blew, fluttering the lush palm groves along the shore, the rustling leaves mixing with the sound of the waves lapping against the sandbanks, both beautiful and enchanting.
And even more enchanting were the occasional bikini-clad girls appearing on the beach.
Because this is Miami, where there's the highest concentration of Latin beauties, known for their curvaceous figures; thus, the bikini-clad girls on the beaches here were mostly buxom and curvy, fiery and charming.
In the past, James liked to place a long chair, grab a bottle of ice-cold Coke, sit under the awning in front of Baker's store, squint his eyes, and watch each bikini girl passing by the front of the store, as if watching a Victoria's Secret lingerie show.