I love the evening light on the beach. I love reading lying down on the sand while feeling the heat of the rays caressing my body with an intensity that's now bearable. I take a drag on the joint, alternate it with a glance at the horizon, and immerse myself in reading. No one looks at me, nor judges me. Well, some have looked at my ass while I entered the water to take a bath. That's what happens when you wear a thong on the beach, something I like but can't do in my area. It's very rocky. But on this southern beach, no one knows me, so I brought my nice collection to wear one every day. Today I wore the gray and black lycra one.

It's a very beautiful, secluded, and discreet cove. That's what the guide from Hostel Experience, the hotel agency a colleague recommended, told me. So, here I am, enjoying these days I'm taking for myself, disconnecting, and feeling free.

"Good afternoon."

A strong and solid voice takes me out of my reading. I move the book to discover, behind its leaves, two men in uniform looking at me with serious faces.

"Coast Guard. It's forbidden to consume narcotics on the entire beach."

"The guide told me it was allowed here."

"What guide? Let me guess? The one from Hostel Experience?"

"Yes, that one," I respond before swallowing my saliva.

The two exchange smiles.

"That one doesn't know anything. This year we've expanded the prohibition area, which now includes this zone."

"Okay, sorry," I respond while making the gesture to extinguish the joint in the sand and put it in the plastic glass I use as an ashtray. But the cop takes it away with his hand.

"On your knees and hands behind your neck!" he orders.

They keep me like that for a while as they search my backpack until they find the bag of marijuana I bring to the beach every day.

"Ah, surprise," one of them says, smelling the contents and letting out a pleased "mmmm, it smells good."

"Hands behind your back!" the other orders.

"But are you going to arrest me for that? It's not even five grams!"

"We have to take you to the office to take your statement and impose the fine. Those are the rules," the first one says, taking my backpack and putting my book, towel, and other things in it, while the other handcuffs my hands behind my back.

I start to suspect that one is playing the good cop and the other the bad cop. I soon confirm it.

"If you're so kind as to accompany us..."

"Get moving, little whore," the other says.

He gets me up, holding my elbow, and takes me through the middle of the beach, holding the chain of my handcuffs with one hand and my shoulder with the other.

I fix my gaze on the sand as I walk. There aren't many people left on the beach, and besides, I'm wearing a hat and sunglasses, but even so, it's a real blow to my pride that the police are taking me away in handcuffs and a ...