The cloudless sky was a blue infinity that belonged to the birds. The seagulls congregated high above on the tips of the masts and the ropes attached to the sails. There was Michael, down on the docks watching them from far below as he walked, away from the land and towards the open sea. The boardwalk was as mild as the weather. Most of the sailors and fishermen were out in the harbor; very few were dallying about on the beach or the adjacent street. The lunch rush had ended, and the factory workers had returned to their stations, leaving the vendors to take their time in sweeping up. The boats were all in line in the harbor. The fisherman hustled about in their work, as always, paying the young boy no mind as if he had donned a cloak of invisibility. And high above were the gulls, fanning their wings and departing on as frail a whimsy as what brought them. He found the Desdemona, tied to a post. Identifying the boat made him smile; nobody was looking so he didn't have to hide it. Even still, he only managed a slight upturn at the corner of his mouth. His mild excitement transformed his lackadaisical saunter into an expectant lively jog as he drew near the boat. He heard the sound of O's voice. He was talking on the phone.

"Wassup, O!" he greeted as he leapt onto the boat. O turned over his shoulder to see who it was, but he didn't respond. Instead, he turned his back and talked in a lower tone. Michael inched closer, hugging the wall of the cabin as he tried to listen.

"Nah," O continued with a nervous chuckle. "I don't have any kids, at least none that I know of. That's just a neighborhood boy. Likes playin' on the boat... Yeah...Yeah, tomorrow's not a problem. Fasho."

He glanced over his shoulder one last time before hanging up.

"My bad, lil' man, come on in," he called.

"Who was that?" Michael marveled. O stared at his hands in his lap. Michael noticed immediately that his entire aura was different, and the temperature in the cabin felt twenty degrees colder than it did outside.

"Just some business, don't worry about it."

"Everything good?"

"Yeah, yeah, man," he casually dismissed with a half-grin and his eyelids pinched closed. "Let's get the sticks, kid, I'm starvin'."

Michael did as he was told, and left O to retrieve the fishing rods from the back. He opened the closet door and searched for all the supplies they needed in their usual spots. He took a good, long look. There was a glimmer that captured his eye from the back shelf. Maybe the light from outside had never caught it at the right angle, but he had never noticed it. The peculiar item was lustrous and white, with two wide black holes in it that stared back at him, and a long protrusion emerging from the center of it resembling a nose or snout.

"Lil' man!"

The sound of O's voice rattled Michael to action. He hastily grabbed the rods and the tackle box and ran out.