[She laughs, under her breath — the kind of laugh that isn't funny, that after a while turns into a sort of messy sob, and when it breaks she winds up just sitting down in the sand right where she is, dragging her knees up to her chest and hugging them in a way that's hilariously unmindful of how unsuited her shirt dress is for someone to configure themselves that way.]

It doesn't change anything. You think it's going to change something and it doesn't.

[She drops her head down onto her bare knees.]

Words are just words. What good are they, next to what people do?