<strong>Name:</strong>Ramona Carver<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Beach Bar<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Beach Bar denizens<br/><br/>Ramona (https://pbs.twimg.com/media/DAsLT63WsAAcxLL.jpg) flounces in behind her father, wearing a cute romper (https://img1.fpassets.com/is/image/FreePeople/38850756_090_a?$pdp$) and ratty white Converse low-tops. She looks around, pleased by the sunshine and the overall feel of the place. She stood with hands in her front pockets, ready to rip the thing off and get out on the rays.<br/><br/>"Man, this place is kind of cheesy," she says. "The good kind of cheesy. Steel drums and tiki torches?<em>Classic</em>."<br/><br/>The flight had been a little rocky, with the heat off the tarmac making the landing pretty dodgy, but they had made it. She stretched her arms up, a nubile, compact little body, and as she continued checking the place out she let her ears prick up at what Nicole was asking about the rum. Were their dads going to be hardasses about letting them drink? Hopefully not! This would be kind of a drag if they were boxed in, but then if the dads got all stuffy they could probably break free and get some dudes - younger dudes, older dudes, whatever dudes - to set them up.<br/><br/>She shot a look at her friend. It occurred to her she didn't actually know what the drinking age was here. Hell, maybe they'd even be able to score some weed.