With a blank stare, skin so white he could be snow, snow, like an iceberg in the sea, waiting and watching, for that boat you’re on, you’re friend walks over, the heavy smell of sea coming off him. “Is that aftershave?” You ask. He slowly turns, looking you dead in the eyes “no, it’s boat”
“Boat?-“
“I am boat, on a boat in a boat. The sea is boat, that iceberg is boat the world is boat. Boat”














