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  • The after-parties have collapsed in their libated duvets.

    The party birds have moulted their liquid finery.

    The-two-for-the-price-of-ones are one all alone, well past dawn, into the sunny.

    The signs persist.

    It is always happy hour on the signs.

    Not always such a happy hour in the morning.

    But here I am walking the street on an empty morning, empty of the party people, 24 hour party people, 48 hour party people, 72 hour party people, and we are all hoping for that promised party in our hearts, getting up to sweat it out on the boardwalk to gain relief, from the view of the sea.

    It is always happy hour back there in the rip tides.
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