The coast. The gulls, gulling. The sand, sanding. The waves, waving or whatever.

 

The big DFDS ferry. Going where? Norway, or something? Amsterdam? They’re waving. Should we wave back?

 

Looking out at the horizon. What’s coming from over there? Nothing good. 

 

Pickled mussels. Crab-meat sandwiches. Looking across to the south pier. To South Shields.

 

Watching the sea swimmers.

The north sea’s at its warmest now, in November. All these warmish ocean currents.

 

The coast. The edge of the universe.

What’s across there?

Denmark, I think.

I don't believe in Denmark.

That’s where the Vikings came from – those bastards. Flooding into the northeast, York and all that.

I don't believe in Vikings. I don't believe in York.

 

Is this actually how we’re going to spend our lives? Haven’t we got anything better to do?

We’re thinking about the problem of not having anything better to do. That’s what we do.

I’m thought-free. There’s nothing in my head.

Good nothing? Like, exalted nothing? Philosophical nothing? Religious nothing?

Probably just nothing.

Buddhist nothing? Hindu nothing? Coast nothing?

 

We’ve been brought low for a reason. We’re depressed for a reason.

What reason? Why?

Something’s going to reveal itself.

To us? Why us?

We have a role in the drama.

What drama? There is no drama. There’s just random stuff.

 

The universe doesn’t care. The sky doesn’t care. It’s a great blind eye.