Half of my attempts to swim beyond the bay result in a whimpering retreat. The jellyfish have claimed the ocean, and they let me know it. My last refuge, where I could perform my slow and inefficient stroke in peace, is taken from me. Despite my fantasies of taking revenge on these lurking menaces with some kind of adapted mosquito net, I have accepted defeat. It is hard to call a further attempt anything other than masochism.
The story goes that overfishing has disrupted the food chain, which leads to jellyfish. The horizon is filled with fishing boats from dawn to dusk, it seems plausible.
The story goes that overfishing has disrupted the food chain, which leads to jellyfish. The horizon is filled with fishing boats from dawn to dusk, it seems plausible.
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