We try and have fun on Buber. This is a bar after all, and most of the time we do not sit around moaning about the state of the universe. This is a relaxation centre, not a soapbox. However, I am still undecided about our visiting performers.
I knew there were tourists by the size of their engine. Their ship streak across the horizon, with a buzz somewhere between a motorbike and an old lawnmower. A patron at the bar rolled her eyes. They arrived wearing sunglasses and holding hands, and ordered drinks with umbrellas and pineapple in hurricane glasses.