AN ORDINARY AFTERNOON
A wet towel on the rail.
A dog in the shade.
“Watch this”—again.
By four o’clock, the dog had found the coolest patch of shade. A wet towel hung from the dock rail, and the same call crossed the yard for the fifth time: “Watch this.” No one stopped to name it a memory. The afternoon simply carried on—the warmth of rope in small hands, wet feet finding the first step back aboard, and a dog asleep close enough to hear everyone laughing.





