The moon hangs above the breakwater. ポストカード

The moon hangs above the breakwater. It is a world of blue twilight, just before the sun fully sets. In the distance, the faint sound of the sea drifts in. A gentle summer breeze blows as I stroll aimlessly in flip-flops. I come here every summer. For a brief time, I live alongside close friends. They come when they please and are free to leave whenever they like—during the two weeks we’ve booked the place, it doesn’t matter who arrives when or where they go. Every day is just a back-and-forth between the beach and the house, a beer in hand.