Okay, it's officially freezing today. -7 degrees! Are there enough clothes to keep a person warm in this kind of temperature? Brrr.
Trying to walk in the sandy places in the shallows he moved out of the cleft in the ironshore rocks and shone his flashlight at the white fiberglass boat purring on the horizon. Ready with a story in case the dawn light was playing tricks and instead of Santiago in the Santa Marta the boat carried the Coast Guard or worse yet the fish police, Manning thought about how he had gotten into this mess. His whole life he had attracted a, let's say, more interesting class of people. His mother, his social climbing, money loving mother hated his friends, force him to live his life in the shadows to avoid her disapproval. A sly smile lifted the corners of his mouth when he saw the flash of Santiago's smile when the Santa Marta reached the edge of the drop-off. Manning waded out, swimming the last few yards. He slipped over the gunwale like an eel, pulled the zippered plastic pouch out from under his shirt and counted out the pile of guilders. "I said dollars," Santiago said, his smile draining away from his eyes and lips. "You want me to explain to the bank manager why guilders aren't good enough? 'Dollars are what smugglers want, sir.' Yeah, that'd be great." The hard light in Manning's icy blue eyes stopped Santiago's complaint.
Well, there you have it. I still don't know what IT is but I'm getting closer. See you tonight.
--Barbara
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