after the swamp i put mister back in his cherriot to explore further. he started shaking when i parked him by the ice fence against the sea wall remaining for a picture. i thought he was sick and i thought to turn back but i gave him a treat and he calmed. i thought even though he can't see i'm his eyes and he can feel the landscape has undergone a drastic and violent change. i thought he was in fear the sea would rise up from behind and swallow him. we go further north to survey the scene—it gets sadder as you go. they started bulldozing the concrete chunks into little mountains. it looks like a war zone without the war it's a disaster man made not war but it looks the same aftermath nobodies centuries of progress conquering nature. 
i found a spoon and a little melted green bottle, putting it in my pocket i thought of doing a picture on mister's head but i put it in my back pocket and forgot it until on the ride home i stopped at open produce and reached in and it was broken and cut my thumb. we should not wait til later. we should be gentle with each other because we don't know what's going to happen next and it's now that matters peace begins at home and we need not take offense where none is meant.