By Jeffrey A. Paolano
Burt swabs the spray crust from the teak deck. Chrome fixtures render unnecessary the daily brass polishing of prior times.
His Caribbean tan, bleached hair, and lean frame makes of him the prototype of a man living the ubiquitous fantasy.
Barefoot he cranks the windlass, weighs anchor, and then singles the lines in preparation of getting underway. Burt favors motor power in the anchorage, then sail, once he gains the roadstead.
Above the vessel, the cerulean background accentuates the fluff of cotton puff clouds already baking in the intense sun.
Yet, the agonizing sting of cowardice underpins Burt’s flight into paradise.
You appear to be a man’s writer. The writing, I thought was good; a subject you seem to know about and be comfortable with. I liked the “fluff of cotton puff clouds. Good job.
Good job. I felt kind of like the character the first time I went deep sea fishing!