Down at the fish dock, the boats are in. Skippers pace the pontoons, phones to their ears, negotiating the sale of their catch.
Out on the beach, lone windswept figures walk. Drawn to the crash of the waves on the shore and the limitless horizon beyond.
Elevenses is served, upstairs on the balcony of the Royal Pavilion. Children romp on the sands.
The bohemian cafes, beneath the red brick arches of the cliff front dock road, fill with shoppers returning. . . .
. . . from the cobbled streets above. . .
. . . the thronged inner harbour.
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