The Ferryman
They made me show my license. I showed it. They looked at it, said go, and I went. The flood line was marked with orange tape stretched between telephone poles. The tape was snapping in the wind, and behind it the water was still rising. I could see it moving, slow and dark and full of things I didn't want to identify. I have a boat. It's a flat-bottom skiff, twelve feet, aluminum, with an...
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