Sea spray. Piss. Warm coins and light. Kids posting pennies. Hot, sweet. Gulls sweeping past with webbed feet dangling. I made you a promise. Horses turning in circles. The helter-skelter that I rode in a pouch made of doormats – thirty five years ago. I made you a promise. Stray pebble into the muddy khaki of today’s sea. The gust of a silent man’s cigarette smoke. Hey Jude from crackling speakers. I made you a promise. Tea from an endless pot and chips soaked brown – crusted with salt. A man with a shopping trolley and broad feet wrapped in layers of fabric, forced into trainers with tongues lolling. I made you a promise. Walking the thin strip of concrete between the prom and the pebbles. I toss my last coin. I wait in the secret passage for the rain to pass. There used to be dolphins. They stood on their tales and sang a happy birthday to you. There used to be sea lions that clapped. I made you a promise. If I break into a run now – maybe? Run fast enough to turn the world back. If I walk under the pier will I come out into 1978? Peach Melba running over my knuckles. Can I have another go? I made you a promise. This ticket is a return. If I wait under the arch of glass at this seaside station will it all become clear? Kneel on the platform in text and prayer. This is the end of the line.