Sometimes I need a hug, or I miss soft-spoken words amid the cries of seagulls. Sometimes there are not enough colours in a watergaw that I spot over the sea. Sometimes I want to shout, “Let’s all pretend we live forever and stop asking what the exchange rate is.” But most of the time, I simply sit on a bench on the promenade by the beach and watch the strollers passing me by, hoping one day someone notices me. I guess everyone should have their own little impossible to cherish.
Living in a seaside town, it is nothing strange to run into seagulls fighting
over food scraps in front of a chip shop. Moreover, if you happen to have
a sandwich in hand, you can bet they will try to steal it, often successfully,
when you least expect an attack from above.
Living in a seaside town, at least once in your life you wiped their poo off
your head or some piece of clothing. Their cries are your lullabies at night
and wake you up better than an alarm clock in the morning.
Living in a seaside town, you hate them until you either move somewhere
else, learn to love them, or at least get along.
Living in a seaside town, you know they were here first.
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