It was the wind and the salt air, that wore the grooves into his face. Forty years on the water will do that to a person. He still managed to smile though, and his wife loved his crooked grin.
Every day there was the armor of the trade, a slicker, a hat, and the always wet gloves. His battle scar was the dull ache in his back, that never went away. The sun often cheered him though, with the occasional dolphins jumping.
And every night there was a victory – because there was always enough food to eat. And their house was always warm, in the wintertime.
It was a very good life indeed.
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