The Faded River
The invoice was folded into a tight square on the gunwale, the paper soft from the damp air. I held it out to the man standing on the dock. The ink had smeared slightly, a brown blur where my thumb had pressed too hard. “Sign here,” I said. “And there. Standard terms. No hidden fees. I’m not a lawyer, but I am a pilot, and I know the value of a hull that doesn’t leak.” The man looked at the...
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