An endless empty beach where it is hard to tell where the wet sand actually ends and the sea begins. Maybe it isn't a beach at all. A desolate, silent desert far from civilization – away from England, outside of Europe. Only the blurred seagulls slightly spoil the illusion of another planet. A strangely comforting emptiness – it would be a good place to read a book, or even better, to write one – the absolute best place for rewriting endings.

Drifting through Noikosmos #5, 2011