MAG 295

Nibbling.
Their absence is strange.
A familiar lobster scent reminded me once of travels from last fall.
The salted breeze warmed me then, but that was not what drew me in through the window.
It was the smell of lobster that reminded me of the fisherman's calloused hands,
and the wind set in a sail destined for heaven.

Had she been here, I would have never dared to venture in.
I eat to my heart's content.
Then fly.

In the distance, I notice the bell tolling in the sunset.
And the rush of people moving through the narrow streets like the lifeblood running through veins.