Fisherman’s Blues

He woke up thirsty. That was often how Roger started his day. It beat the alternative. In his younger years he woke up sick from the sea. You get used to it, he found out. Now the feeling was so far back in his life he’d forgotten what it even felt like, in the same way one feels long after their headaches cease. He woke up before the sun, although his eyes still squinted open. He fumbled for his water bottle to find it empty. He sighed, forcing himself to the upright position, throwing on a tattered shirt and not bothering with bottoms.
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