the baggy trousered misanthropist

missives issued from the lair

The man was roaring. Eyes screwed tight, tears pouring down already flushed cheeks, fists clenched, banging on the table until cutlery, fine china and, yes, Javin thought, teeth on nearby tables began to rattle. Advertisements

They were specks in the distance. He wouldn’t have spotted them but for the lone tern that drifted into his binocular sights, dipping with the air currents that clashed across the bay. Usually he wouldn’t bother focussing on a bird he routinely documented but this one’s insouciance caught his eye and he followed its progress …

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