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Travel Writing - Rhyl  

Member rating: No Rating | Words: | Submitted: Thu Nov 17 2005

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Rhyl, glorious Rhyl. The smell of raw fish, fresh in the air, cleaning out my lungs. My little brother ran around wondering where he was, purely amazed at his surroundings and the fact they were different to the four walls of our house. We walked past a market and the smell of seafood became somewhat unbearable. Mum wanted to buy some sweets from a stall conveniently positioned next to the fish shop; I chose to pass on that one. I was kind of scared; all the scaly sea folk stared at me with those big eyes through the ice-chip traps they were laid out on. On we walked through the throat-stingingly salty air and the scanky litter filled roads. The fakest of smiles was slapped across my mothers face as she chomped on those fishy sweets...mmm ...sounds delish. Dad looked at me; one eyebrow raised and frown in place Soon, although it...

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