Ah, summertime. Exquisite aromas permeate the beach-side promenade a Sunday morning; your mother is draped by warmth, only disturbed by a light breeze as she marks her way through the wooden path laid upon the sand. She turns left to discover waves washing the shore delicately —almost a caress— and the rays of sunshine reflecting on a few ivory-white grains of sand. She feels life thrust upon her, so lively and full of energy. While she inspires the breeze, redolent with an unmistakeable scent of reality, she sheds a single tear of joy—a reminiscence of good times past and a sign of more to come. The single tear-drop still slides down her silky cheek just as she feels a drive that urges her to run towards the sea; to touch the water with her feet, to let the waves wash her as they have a thousandfold eternities washed the ancient sands of existence. Overjoyed she runs towards the sea, she finally has figured life out… But the instant her toe touches the waters, the sea retreats several hundred metres and then comes back in the form a of tsunami, exerting a crushing force of 5.73 million tonnes per metre square on her— squishing her as a ripe lemon.
‘WHY?!? DEAR GOD, WHY?!?’ your cry is heard ten kilometres away by an overweight asian who slurps his noodles without a care. And, while explanations abound, the one that is immediately obvious is 42.
Oi, I See Bubbles!