Any semblance of the time of day has been lost, the day turns slow. The sun has been taken hostage by a gang of grey clouds and they are refusing to let it go.
Chaotic scenes above transpire below, the waves of the water try grasping at the houses. They always fall short, landing just by their feet.
Naturally metronomic, the wet heartbeat of the coast smashes up against the man made barrier, before slapping down a salty kiss on the street.
But the houses gasp as a momentary respite alleviates them to breathe dry. A carriage train carries passengers across the coastline.
The tourists are blessed as they are baptised by a lashing of foamy spray, softened by the sea wall merely a meter away.
Travellers look on, subconsciously watching a war. The icy breath emanating from the window spars with the rasping heater, spreading warmth upwards from the floor.
Looking on towards a destitute view, debating where the sky meets the sea.
Colourless, monochrome.
A view that’s going to stalk them on their train journey home.
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