Fishermans Friend.

Huddled under an overpass on a dreary Tuesday morning, 3 nonchalant fisherman casually chat about the affairs of the day, as cars thunder past above them- people rushing to work, to school, the airport, home – to get somewhere. Not these guys. They’re content to just kickback, maybe catch a fish or two, who even cares? The sea is serene, the weather is pleasant, and the tea, brewed.
In the distance, the container-yard is stirring up for the morning shift- or perhaps settling down from the evenings. The sound of truck horns and cranes whirring, synchronise harmoniously with the call of the seagull, the lapping of the sea and reverb of tire pounding asphalt from the bridge above. The lingering scent of sea salt hangs in the air- intoxicating almost- as if you’re being caressed into a gentle slumber- a state of euphoria. You lose yourself to the sea. No worries, no problems. No fighting no arguing. The world is wholesome and well.
The sea beckons, if only for a second.