The water is a murky greenish-blue, and the ships that are moored at the docks are a motley crew of creaking wooden vessels, their sails patched and their hulls covered in barnacles. They look like they've seen better days, a lot of better days, but they're still afloat, and that's all that matters in a city like this.
May's eyes are wide with wonder. She's never seen so many ships in one place before, and she stares at them, her head tilted, as if she's trying to figure out how they manage to stay afloat.
"Look at that one, Auntie Diane!" She says, pointing at a small, weather-beaten fishing boat with a single mast and a tattered sail. "It's so small!"
"That's a fishing boat." I explain. "They use it to catch fish in the sea."
"Can we go on a boat?" She asks, her eyes wide with hope.
"Not today." I say, my voice firm. "Maybe another time."
I can't believe I said that.
Maybe another time?
As if we're ever going to be 'another time' in this city again.
