Waves pummeling each other like bronco-riding competitors cooped up in a phone booth.
Palm trees blown, bending as if the gods became lazy enough about plucking coconuts after climbing a tree.
Bicycles in a rush hour race to get home to the fascinating suburbs.
Scientific principles on every anniversary card, for the celebrating of the real.
The pavements lined with bookshops selling good literature and one on the street starting with authors under the letter A and a few blocks away the home of those like Zola, with the letter Z.
Strange afternoon.
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