Holiday is when the collective shadow reveals itself. A discharge of negative energy. When strangers rape the town en mass. They believe the town belongs to them, that it was built for their pleasure, and are allowed to dump their garbage for some local to pick up. Because they paid. That’s the only difference between an invasion and a holiday. Payment.
The tourist spirit is so large that it drowns out the local. Now the tourist is boss and you work for them. We take over your streets with our dogs, with our clothes, with our ice creams, with our hunger, with our culture, with our power, with our energy. We can do what we want because we paid for this. Who do you think you are, civilian? Show us a trick or get out of our way. Not that we were noticing you or anything. We need to get get get, and suck all the pleasure out of this place.
I’m a hungry black dragon. I am mechanical in nature. I come one day at a prescribed time and then vanish at the end of summer. All the parts of me are moving accordingly. I’ll seek a nice beach town and sink my claws into it until I feel saturated again. The ants will have to bear with me until I’m done.
The dragon takes your favorite seat, your favorite cappuccino, at your favorite table, in your favorite cafe. You can’t even get in because that beast is in there.
No single tourist will accept the responsibility. It is my right to holiday. I need it. Before I return to my office and get crushed by the boss; or imprisoned by the teacher. Holiday is my carte blanche to exorcise my repressed self.
They can’t leave anything alone. Every stone needs to be turned, every animal disturbed, every silence ruined.
I hate holidays. I wish everybody was free.