Trade winds at sea.

I am on a massive barge working as a deck hand to pay for my passage across the sea. The weather couldn’t be better, warm clear skies and a light breeze. Fish continue jumping up into large green nets that have been strung all along the lower decks, and my job is to organize them, which is no easy task as each is the size of a Labrador.



My father and brother are waiting with our things in the cargo bay and we make land in Paris just as I am checking on them. We walk off the boat and I’m sad to go, though I am looking forward to warm croissants and sight-seeing. It’s strange, all of the architecture would suggest we are in Italy rather than France, and everything is eerily familiar.


There is a massive bakery, so tall I cannot see the top and every floor has big windows behind which millions of different pastries steam gleam. I laugh because it reminds me of Breakfast at Tiffany’s in reverse, looking at baked goods rather than diamonds. I have no money to pat for a treat, so I admire them for a while then head off to find my family again, which I never seem to be able to do. Every time I feel close to finding them, I get an awful foreboding that they are definitely not where I think they are and if I went to check anyways a terrible fate might befall me. I’m miserable that I can’t just buy that croissant…



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