Terry had never seen her in his life, but would have known her in a sea of coveralled women.
Five days earlier a chopper had dropped him and eleven others off on the vessel that was to be their home for the next four weeks. He’d smiled and inhaled the salty ocean air. The floating old rust bucket was three generations outdated but it held sentimental value for him. At least twelve hours of each of the next twenty eight days, he would spend working on it, so there was no point moaning about its limitations.
Continue reading “Slinky Boots”