Picture this: You are on a pier, walking towards your past..
Slowly he made his way towards the pier. A lifetime of being at sea brought with it aches and pains throughout his body. All he wanted now was to see the ship. His ship. The ship he had sailed on for years. Through stormy seas and snow and ice to calm oceans in tropical waters the ship had weathered it all. He thought of the men he had served with through the years, salty old dogs like him who had signed up for adventure and then realized it was really a glorious hell they were all a part of. He thought of the exotic ports of call he had seen with this ship-Hong Kong, Bombay, Cape Town, Santiago. He thought about how times changed and gradually people stopped using old ships like this, replaced by more modern and streamlined vessels. Oh he tried working those alright, but they were more of a machine. His ship was alive, the way it moved. The way it sounded, creaking and groaning like his old body did now. Suddenly he was standing in front of her again even though she was trapped within the concrete and steel of the pier like a prisoner. It made him sad to think that is how people now would remember her. An artifact, a memento of a by-gone era. After one last look, he slowly turned around and made his way back towards the street. Who would remember the ship the way she was? For that matter, who would remember him now?
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All Photographs By Robert P. Doyle