There was a man on the roof with a notice around his neck "The fate of Tourism". We all rushed to him. Poor guy, his sunglasses were at an odd angle on his face, his lips were red and smudged like he had had too much of something, he was wearing a tie, a strange hat that fell off easily and he had a bright, frozen, grin. We couldn't help grinning back at him. Was this going to turn out to be a joke?

"Take - me - to - the - beach. Take - me - to - the- beach" he said over and over again, like a broken mechanical toy. It became clear that this poor tourist was finished, burned out, demented, too much sun... He walked unsteadily towards the water tank, "Take - me -to - the - beach". Still repeating his chant he climbed in. Only when the water rose over him and the lid of the tank was closed above his head, so that he was lost in total darkness, did he finally find peace. All was quiet. We who had laughed at his strange grinning face now moved away uncomfortably.

The beach was miles away.