#riff.

    IT’S A RUSH. Jacket on the coat rack, phone in the pocket, and butt on the sofa faster than you can say ‘guten morgen’. 

    ◤ “Guten morgen.” ◢

    ◤ “You didn’t have to make such a scene.” ◢

    THE SIGN READS: open. Klavier hasn’t smiled in a while, but he puts on his best one.

    It may look a little rusty in the reflection of the glass, but it’s better than all the other ones he tried in the mirror. The lesson: don’t try this at home, kids. As his eyes travel lower, he makes sure to adjust his sleeve all proper. Hair out of his eyes? Teeth clean? Stomach settled? Check, check, check if he isn’t picky. 

    With a deep breath, he pushes the door to its label.

    He’s not sure if he’s meant to be thankful, but it’s only Beauty.

    EVEN AN EMPTY coast is never short of vendors.

    ( For the first time in forever, ) he thinks, ( There might be a scarcity. )

    How difficult could it be to get some ice cream on the beach? A lot harder than he’d speculated, because that’s the third ice cream stall that’s run out today while he's been in line. There’s an uproar of complaints and sand-kicking; he only turns around to face the man who was lining behind him.

    BEATING DOWN ON the water in a steady heartbeat: The Sun, feat. the Bass, the muted sounds of EDM. He lowers his glasses. He's washed away the feeling with the sea, the eyeburn with the sun-- the ringing with the music, he hopes. He needs. Besides, his tan has already been rejuvinated.

    A good time. Something he hasn't witnessed in weeks. He grooves with the rest, blending in instead of sticking out-- yes, it's strange, not being noticed in a crowd like this, but at least he can relax in peace.

    Relax, that is, until he bumps another man on the back. If people were to assume--