Palm trees in the distance, a rickety and wooden fence line in  the sand.
A mild winters day on the Atlantic. The birds far out number the brazen souls that are scattered here today. The concrete pier is a lone king to the foamy waves that end their long journey here from the western lands of Europe.
You are pulled into the symmetric pillars that give rise to the lone king. One step closer to understanding.
In the blink of a watery eye covered in dust, you disappear, the lone king remains in it’s concrete solitude.

Wench, bring my ale, what say you?

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