Elliott was sitting at his writing desk. He had been torn up with writer's block recently. He shakes his head and stands up.

Elliott: "The beach shall quell my woes. Mayhaps that new farmer will trot by and leave a trail of inspiration in their wake." The thought made him smile a little. He couldn't help it; the farmer made him feel a certain way. Perhaps his seaside isolation was finally getting to him, but there was something about the way they treated him.