I'll write how I am. Sitting by the sea, a thousand voices having traipsed the boardwalk already this morning. Woke up with two drunks at home, ate cereal standing in the kitchen. Someone was asleep on the lounge and I couldn't turn on the light to read in our tiny place. I had to leave for a bit. I forgot my sunglasses. It's bright and cool by the sea. Tiny frequent waves are white maned horses in a Pushkin fairytale, their riders- or the wind, roar softly, familiar. Two men rub sunscreen into each other's balding heads, they look like genderless newborn twins.
I take my time with things. Forgotten how to write this.
I wrap a scarf around my head, wrap my arms around my middle. Watch the cargo ships from the pier.