…We stood on the bridge. My father waved his hand over the sea. ‘You see all this? You see all this, Tray? This is the same sea that your great-great-great-granddaddy sailed across two hundred years ago.’
Weird, I thought. Really fucking weird.
We were on a ship sailing from Turkey to Cyprus and a hell of a storm was brewing. People were still boarding the boat, carrying TVs, hifis, live chickens and boxes of oranges…
pg. 76, Going Home, Strangeland, 2006.