Henry meets Istanbul

It’s been 3 years since we last looked in on Henry, from what we last know he made landfall with the others. What did Henry move on to do… well let’s have a look.

Still working at the docks and living from his boat, he’s turning 18 now. He runs his own fishing boat.

Bzzt-Bzzt my alarm buzzed next to me initiating my morning routine of get coffee shower and get out the door, nothing had changed except I’m no longer lost at sea.

I work from my boat me and the others built, I just upgraded it a little: added a paint job, added an engine and fishing gear. It’s a quaint lifestyle though one day I’d love to return home, that isn’t possible as I’ve gone in debt with the city.

Already I’m getting harassed by them over the loan I owe on, to think I could get a good catch is far fetched with how over fished these water’s are.

I would love to return home to Seattle, but I now have priorities here in istanbul. Once I deal with these set-backs, I plan to begin saving for the venture home again.

Out at sea a storm was brewing and I got cuaght in its mits, water smacked Lil Tilly with might, cascading water unto the deck. This isn’t worth your boat – I thought as I tugged the anchor from the fierce watery depths.

Back at the docks, I secured my boat to the wooden harbor. Moving below was my living quarters – nothing changed – towards my cot. With the blankets warmth tucked around me, and the cool pillow below my head I drifted off to sleep.

The next day I was awoken by the istanbul police with a heavy knock on my hatch, I opened it, “hello, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Henry we can only be so patient though I know between the storms and overfishing you haven’t gotten a catch, so we’ve put together an offer to work off some of your debt and avoid the slammer.” the man in charge said, his subordinate said,

“here’s a flyer explaining your directions, Henry, good luck.”

Looking down at the flyer I received, it stated:

Come to the police substation at 6:00 p. m square, bring ragged clothes.

Oh boy, I thought. Worming my way back down into my hobble, realizing the weather was nice, I glanced up at the clock above 4:00 p.m it read. Plenty of time to fish I thought, heading out to the calm waters once again hoping for a decent catch.

As a 5:15 p.m rolled into sight with fruitless luck on fishing, I returned to the harbor and tied down my boat again. Now six was getting close, I threw on my worst garments and headed for the substation close to the docks.

At the station a classic ten minutes past, “Good evening, are you here for community work?” the plump officer questioned. “Yes U…I am,” I corrected myself.

The officer snatched a slip from the printer in his grubby fingers and handed it to me. Now in line with the lot they lead us towards the shore – most likely to fetch trash.

After the agony was over I paid off a measly 20 bucks from around a thousand dollar loan.

I didn’t sleep in fear they may take my Lil Tilly, the next morning those fears attempted to be reality. Three officers knocked on my door proclaiming my payment is late thus my boat is theirs.

I made perhaps a rash decision, and hastily sped away – last night my fear urged me to untie the boat – I headed for U.S soil… home.

It was slightly treacherous though I saved enough diesel to make it, almost a month at sea, it finnaly appeared amongst the fog was the cove like it was with grandad.

In the cove I tied down Lil Tilly, milestone made, I thought to myself. This cove was only findable with grandads nautical, it housed a small shack with food and water stores and a small harbor pond.

THE END… for now

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