They served excellent crabs,
For they usually them boiled alive,
till their skin turned into fresh dark oranges.
Nothing tastes better than a submission ending without an ordeal.
Amidst the hullabaloo of the never closing cash counter, sun-baked foreigners awe over this never seen massacre.
The server, a lady of forty spews half broken greetings all over the table.
Her overnight dreams sweating from her eyebrows.
A mistake would be her beloved nightmare, soon.
I gulp down a dry martini and observe the horizon.
Beaches were always terrifying for me,
A place where I could drown and never be found.
Becoming a bitter aftertaste to my existence.