There is no cure for birth and death save to enjoy the interval.

Yeah yeah, more boats. The other morning I spotted this scene and felt compelled to take a photograph.

Here is a really short story for you.

Footsteps echo on the path outside as another drunken group erupts with laughter. You hear a car door slam and an engine refuse to start. A wailing "Christ, don't do this to me now" and a "Shut the fuck up Darren" seems to blend in together with the faint aroma of the kabab takeaway up the road and the feel of rough edged polyester sheets; so you close your eyes. You think about where you are and where you possibly could be. You're shivering and wonder why it is that you can't get warm. Pressing your face into the pillow, you can still hear the noise of the street. And your mind wanders. You think about her and you think about you. The memories keep you awake. They entice. They tease. They bother your eyes when nights are cold and you know that you'll never sleep again.