Replying to:
23 January 2009, by Eva Wissenz
You stand there. Where life of earth stops right in front of the sea. Feet into the sand, head in the sky feeling like to play, deeply breathing the smell of a greasy chichi doughnut together with a sea breeze filled with Mistral.
You stand there in front of all that Mediterranean sea The building-ships loathe their freights of emigration And of holidays. They come, they go and come again. From shore to shore, the ports die down at night time. Beaches come to life with games, with the (...)
