Seen from the window on second floor, a carefully lighted room with a blue double on one side, there is nothing else but ocean. Endless going and coming of roaring water, waves curling from massive darkness. A beach deserted, traces of a vehicle on it, lines of water, massive darkness. High on the ceiling, nothing else, as if someone forgot to turn of the heater, a single light, one only. Clouds hang around.
From the ocean comes a turmoil of sound, from the sand a heap of buildings. One of the handmade works is an iron construction fed with birdshit.