The lack of clothes of these citizens was compensated with interest by a gentleman of a completely different kind. He was in chromium shoes with buttons, visiting pants, a dumb-stick jacket, a collar, a tie and a clock chain, as well as a feather hat. The thick buttocks and window wool in the ears supplemented the appearance of this man. Next to him was a stick with a glass barrel, perpendicular to the sand.

I know Tom. The collar was swollen from the sweat. It was hot under the gentleman’s head, like in a dome; there could be melted the ore. But he continued to lie still.

On any beach in the world you can find one such person. Who he is, why he came here, why he lies in full uniform – nothing is known. But there are people like that, one on each beach. Per they are members of some secret League of Fools or the remnants of the once powerful Order of the Rosicruciers, or the broken solitary — who knows...

("Golden calf" I. Ilf, E. Petrov)