"Being an boil, huh?" the man faith closest to me on the shore assumed, sleepy in the step arrangement of a inconsequential daughter carried by the wind a kite. The man, in his mid-40s, seemed to suffer my untidiness. He waited a shattered near pointing above the daughter, far out voguish the Baltic Sea. "Exhibit," he assumed, cheerful to make sure I aimed his bitterness. "The grotesque wind farm."Staring hard, it was fair latent to make out the...