miss the days you could show up on the docks without a penny to your name, wringing your hat in your hands and the captain of the ship would squint down at you and begrudgingly yell, “eh well, get on lad we need an extra set of hands” and you’d go aboard and set off to god knows where, but you wouldn’t care as long as it was away from here. it would be hard work — harder than anything you’d ever done in your life — your hands would turn raw and callused from the long days of labour at sea. but slowly you would earn the respect of not only the crew but the first mate and one day when the rest of the crew goes ashore to spend their pay, you and the first mate stay back to watch the ship and suddenly he’s looking at you like the sea isn’t the only thing he worships anymore.
