Aberystwyth is a faded grand dame. The waterfront used to be the place to go but lost its elegance and status after the world wars. A long row of Victorian row houses facing the sea look beautiful from a distance. Up close, many are empty, windows opaque with decades of sea spray, sea gulls picking through trash out front.
And yet, I can’t look away. I imagine a dignified old lady in a frayed party dress sitting at one of the bay windows, gazing at the sea as she waits for a suitor who will never call to take her to a ball that will never take place. How maudlin!



