Dimitri leans his shoulder against the railing, eyes drifting out toward the water.

“Sprotte’s a fish. Small one."

He holds two fingers a few inches apart to show the size.

“Shiny little things. Curious. Swim in big schools along the North Sea.” His gaze flicks back to you. "Remind you of someone?"

“In northern Germany they smoke them. Kiel, places like that. Strong smell, but good food if you’ve spent all day out on the water.”

He lifts his thermos. “Sailors eat what’s simple.”