A Near Mid-Night Beach Walk

Conscious of my defalcations in entering posts here and, more importantly, out of booze and cigs, I strode the mile or so of beachfront road into Sleepy Hollow Centro last night, at about 11 pm. The bank ATMs were all closed and little else was open. The Village of The Damned came to mind: just big, dead leaves, drifting crisply across the road. Defeated in my main objective and, the moon being around about full, I decided to return along the shoreline. The lights in a rather run-down, seaside kiosk attracted my attention and there, beneath, in the half-light, I saw a Kiplingesque maiden, right out of The Road To Mandalay smoking "a whackin' white cheroot". Not one to intrude upon the smoking habits of others in these illiberal times, I proceeded, in an orderly fashion, along the tideline, enjoying the blown spume and the flung spray of the South Atlantic Ocean, in my own quiet way; still wondering how I would make up the missing days' posts on here; wondering, wondering, wondering: until this moment. There is no picture for this post, as my moble 'phone camera does not work in the gloaming.