The trip, cancelled. Problems arose, but the whistle has been blowing for a while now. We’ve all had our ears to the tracks, but alas forgot to look up. Let’s simply blame health. Free Range Chicken’s voyage has been cut short.
Back on St. Lucia I walk the docks talking to each person I meet. Free Range Chicken will probably continue south, the wrong direction for me, later tonight. I’m left with a nervous feeling in my chest. “Sorry to bother you. Do you own that boat? You wouldn’t happen to be looking for crew?” I’ve been doing this all morning. I feel like a customer service agent. “Hello there, welcome to [insert franchise here]. How may I help you?” The monotony is necessary if I am going to get anywhere. So is positivity. I have to be an enthusiastic salesman. Many people are willing to help me go north, but in reality can’t for some reason or another: sailing south, no room, already checked out. I walk up to a powerboat with its door open and the sound of barking begins to emerge from inside. As the owner comes to see who the visitor is the non-threatening barks die. I let out a customary good-morning.
“What’s your story?” A standard British accent.
I do my spiel and look to see if his expression will say no before his words. Something is different. I think I have found my ride north again.