The Wistful Voyage
The morning Yakubu Ansah found the barnacle fused to his palm, the shipyard clocks had already begun to disagree, the main tower showing a quarter past seven while the timepiece in the counting house lagged a full minute behind, a discrepancy that would haunt the shift like a splinter in the wood. He was a harbor guard, a man whose life was measured in the weight of iron plates and the...
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