Dilapidated wrappings, broken beer bottles, and merely smoked stompies dominate the view. The ambiance is deprived of staccato cheers of kids to make the relapsing climate new. In the dusk the dissipated loom, no glamour around, Oh! No vavavoom. Casements and leaves screech as the wind takes a stroll, past exuberance is a vivid memory to all. Noses no longer in anguish at the numerous odors in the crowd, but just grateful for the fresh air around. Animals big and small in the caves crouch, and man under his prolific shelter lies on his couch. To the waves nature has claimed its role as a majorette, sweeping waste to the shores which now cry for help. Once upon a time, it was the perfect weather, for a bride to wed his groom, now we require hope and pray the next summer dawns soon.