It is a wide lake, deep and still and the people of the village won't come near it.
It tastes like a girl I know who used to cry over everything, and I would kiss her snotty face and make it temporarily better.
It reminds me of her and I can taste the tears through my coffee.
The people in the village stay away and I am afforded my privacy. It is a welcome tradeoff for a breakfast that tastes like sadness and recrimination. On it's single shore, I can do my unhappy work.