It was a busy and balmy summer day at Scheveningen. The strandtenten were packed with scantily clad
people basking in the warm
sun. Nearby a tattooed man with a large
beer gut, tough-looking disposition and a long
grey handlebar moustache sat with his family. He stood up suddenly and walked over to a
pigeon, picked it up and let it sit in the palm of his hands. He moved gently to a tap, pigeon in palm, and let the bird lap up the cool water and splash about. He put the pigeon down, again gently, and returned to his seat and beer.
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