The Crazy ones

She had not even left port yet the pair were sold. In fact neither knew how to sail. Which was little ridiculous.

she was a forty foot Hinckley Bermuda built in 1979. But the name said it all. Money had been borrowed and begged. both had but a suitcase to their name. A lot of bagggage left in land-locked ports around the world.

It wasn’t exactly all plain sailing though. The first few months were learning how to tie knots, and untie themselves from conformity and sensibility. This was not a well thought-out move. but thinking differently never was. It rained a lot. Money was spent on flights convincing the rest of the world that a life on the open seas (or more likely overpriced ports of meditaranen cities) was in fact a choice one made. They both had to work. Life wasn’t ready for people to be that crazy just yet.

But, on nights where the fishers didn’t spew their wares on the jetty, and when the coastguard tuggs were off catching pirates or drunken powerboat joyriders, they glimsed what was craved. A bottle of wine was opened, the rugs pulled tightly to their noses, and he read from Hemmigway as she listened to the lapping of promised seas.

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