It looked like a good day. The phrase kept streaming but stayed inside. Sad the sea, almost audible. Sad the sea, sad the sea, sad the sea. She flicked on the radio to stop it. Then she saw it. Straight ahead, it glimmered and turned black, a thing laying across the horizon. A blip, then gone. She glanced in the mirror. Again, and now it was behind her. And then ahead. She did not know which way to look.
But she kept going.
1 comment:
This is what it was like when I visited Whitby last weekend. Mostly the sea was blue instead of dark, but then I'm just "relentessly positive where others see only doom and gloom" according to one of my readers. Perhaps I ought to take a course from Nouriel (or his chief apostle these days, Martin Wolf).
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