“On board the Miss Carolina Bud looked up to see the darkening clouds moving in. The sun was a dim globe hovering in the leaden sky. Even though the day had been overcast, the skin on his face, neck, and arms was burning. Thirst tightened his throat so he could hardly swallow. His shoulder ached from holding the awkward position over the drum for hours. His head was swimming in a fog. He knew these were signs of blood loss. He had to face the possibility that he might not make it. He lowered his... head, feeling anger well up like a new pain in his chest. It wasn’t fair. He was only fifty-seven. This wasn’t how he wanted to go—helpless and broke. The goddamn regulations, he thought. The quotas. The licenses. The costs. The fuel. The companies dumping foreign shrimp into the market. His body shook with dehydration and his gut churned as he directed his anger to the heavens. “Why me?” he cried out, balling his fist and pounding the deck. “What did I ever do to piss you off? I may not have been a saint, but I wasn’t that bad a sinner, was I?MoreLessRead More Read Less
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