Unabashedly sagged on the couch at beach pole 9. Sea views, coffee with cake, no cloud, no worries. Nothing that disrupts our peace. Until a herring gull is brutally landed on our signs to pick up the last, tastiest, bite. “Well, ***!” We jump shocked and the alert waitress also stuff hands: “Get away, Guus!” He runs off. We look at each other. “Guus?” We ask. “Yes, Guus Meeuwis!”
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