Beach Huts

I've lived at number 118 for nearly two years now. It's not allowed, but I don't draw attention to myself. I've replaced the lock that I cut off with one of the same make and I've even repainted the hut - keeping the same colour scheme.

You get to know the other beach hutters. The families with kids, the women who talk and drink wine. Old couples who fall asleep under their newspapers. There's one man having an affair in his hut. And another who just comes down here to not talk to anyone. I'm the Writer. They are all used to seeing me with my typewriter on my knees. Once they've labelled you, they don't feel the need to look any more.

And there's a middle-aged man in 23. I'm pretty sure that he's living in his hut too.