So we're trying to get the gear box back on the engine and it's being a bitch. They had to cut away a bunch of supports so they called the yard guy, Denny, to bring his torch down. He was cutting the support irons and the sparks were flying into the bilge, which was full of oily and fuel laden water. I'm not sure if that stuff will catch on fire but I wasn't taking chances. I waited up on the fiddley deck for them to finish.
This yard guy is an odd one. He's a skinny guy with an Amish haircut and squinty eyes. He talks like he's from the farms down south and he smokes constantly and when he went by me I swear I could smell pot. According to the deckineer, that's probably the case. In fact, he hasn't had too much good to say about the yard guy these last few days. Apparently there's some serious animosity between the two.
The only other person I've seen is a guy that hangs out with the yard guy. I haven't met him yet. They tell me he's related to the Old Man. One thing I know is that he must be happier than anyone around here. I've seen him smile in one day more than the rest of these guys have in about a week. Maybe he can be a friend around the yard.
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