Oh wow, I haven't posted one of these in forever. This response is based on a trip my friend Josh and I made to Fort Williams, where there's a lighthouse and really pretty shoreline. There's no actual beach, but the water crashing into the granite cliffs were pretty amazing. This is a snippet of what I got out of it.
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They wouldn't let him into the lighthouse (which, in Quentin's opinion, was complete and utter bullshit), so he explored the ruins instead. At one point, Fort Williams was a stationed base, mounted guns along one side, protecting the easternmost port in the country at the time. Now it was just crumbling structures and graffiti covered walls.
And there was the ocean. Here there was no white sandy beach and quiet waves; the surf pounded into the granite boulders forming the cliffs. There was a sense of power in the white foam at the base of the rocks, an act of God in plain sight. It was almost like he could hear a woman's voice on the wind, beckoning him to join him in the water.
Every artist was inspired by something different; this view was one of Quentin's favorites. He climbed down to the small rock outcropping, careful to avoid any spot that looked wet, sketchbook clutched in one hand. Let the rich kids have their celebration. This, in his mind, was a better way to spend the afternoon.
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