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.
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Dropped my coffee cup twice this morning and blamed the wind. The wind did not oblige me by being guilty. Some things a man keeps to himself until he has decided what they mean.