The high tide is slowly taking up space on the beach. The sun is already set and sharing its last brush strokes on a charmingly mellow sky. The sound of waves is crashing on the adjacent temple’s steps and, by no sheer coincidence, rumbles among the tables of people taking a five.

The last surfers are already gone on this Sunday evening. The smell of salt and instant noodle soup as well as freshly lit cigarettes drill the nose. Nobody is in a rush. There are no expectations. The time carries itself among the greedy ocean water.

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