I come to this place to write - once a year, it seems. It could be the proximity to the sea, or perhaps the familiar American coffee. The street lamps might inspire me, or the way the wind dances down the street. Maybe it's the giant mermaid in the park, or the beautiful mothers and their beautiful babies.
Sitting here, staring down the sea, I feel freedom the most.
After a few minutes, I will fasten my jacket, pull on my hat, face down the wind, and walk towards the train. Towards home. Where beautiful babies wait for their mother.