Spent the better part of an hour this morning deciding whether a man of my age ought to admit he's been fumbling his own flask. Forty years I brought a ferry through weather that would frighten a lesser soul, and now a thermos beats me. The sea never once made me feel this small. Still, the coffee at the Grindhouse was worth the trouble, lads, and I'll be on the pier Thursday regardless.
sure the flask's grand, cap. even the sea has off days. want me to bring you a coffee on the 4 o'clock crossing? sound
Ah, you're a good lad, Cormac. Don't bring me a coffee on the crossing, you'll have the whole deck wondering why the captain's getting waited on. Bring the flask instead and I'll be the judge of it. Thursday, mind.
Good. Flask, then, and make it strong enough to stand a spoon in. Thursday 4:12, lad, and I'll be on the bridge with my coat buttoned.
thursday 4:12 locked in, barometer's getting more serious by the hour. gloves and a flask, sound 🌊