The penultimate day

As eleven degrees Celsius attracts awakened flies
and anti-vaccine rallies, the crowded promenade,
filled with the barking of dogs and the cries of gulls
hunting for a piece of burger torn from the hand
of an inattentive passer-by, lines up at the food stalls.
The surfers in neoprene suits try to catch the weak
waves of the North Sea. And one can hear small talk
and laughter all around. Even the street violinist
is playing more cheerfully than usual, trying to make
some extra money on top of his zero-hours contract
as a music teacher. And everything would be fine
with this genre scene if not for one small detail:
it is really hard to believe it is the penultimate day
of December.

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