I got to spend an afternoon in Brighton. I strolled a British pier like I’ve wanted to do since forever (or since I found out that they existed when I first read Never Let Me Go). It was appropriately windy and sunny with just enough brisk ocean spray to remind me of the beaches back home.
I shielded my fish and chips from the seagulls balancing like kites on the wind. Aggressive dirty assholes.
I didn’t get any pictures of the lanes, but I now know where to go if ever I need to buy some cheap knitted sweaters or flannels.
I’d like to return one day; take some time to sip a few more coffees, browse through second-hand racks, watch a sunset bundled in a blanket from the whipping wind.