Down by the mouth of the Hosniak river you can still see The Club. In all weathers, and all seasons, sparkling white boats once sailed from the safety of its harbour towards open seas. On scented, star-lit summer evenings the thrum of expensive parties would gently carry across river to those night-fishing along the north bank.
The Club closed its doors a year back. Many of the boats remain, unsold – flaking hulls now moored tightly to rusting cleats. Upstream the pylons are advancing; urban jetsam now strewn amongst the once sandy shores.
The fishermen are gone; the city is on its way.
These words form my entry into this week’s Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge.