Jolly Roger

The pace is a lot slower here. And the rules less rigid: smoke where you want, bring your kids into the Jolly Roger bar, where they can breathe in the putrid air and watch drunken adults and semi-adults behave in a blur.
A very fat semi-adult orders his second tray of 10 shooters, his lips tripping over a frayed string of f-words.
I'm sitting quietly, and unusually, at the bar; strangely enveloped in my own peace and quiet, despite the 20 people around me, I'm cocooned and happy.
I've spent most of today naked, and in bed, after coming back from
my 2 early hours on the beach. Reading. Surfing the net. Controlling my mind. Watching the Easter full moon rise over the ocean. Eating muesli, boiled eggs, almonds and drinking coffee. And controlling my mind.
Strangely at peace. And in my swimming trunks, while knowing full well that up north, at home, winter has arrived and the average day-time temperature has dropped to a chilly 10 degrees centigrade.
It's warm and fuzzy at the Jolly Roger. Very. I'll be leaving soon.
"Ek kom van Vereeniging af," says the obese 'boy'.

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