The cold battered his body, gnawing at his joints and seeping his skin from all sides, in its march to his core. It reminded him of his brief time on deck of the tugs.
He had, before his many years as a tug captain, done some days on deck. They said he should become an AB Unlimited. He said they weren't ambitious enough. They said he should get some endorsement, become a Tankerman or some other rating. He told them he was smarter than that. This man was born to lead.
In no time, he showed them what he was capable of. His fast track to the big chair was impressive. He was lord of all from the boat deck and above; he had the galley to himself. For 35 years he lived that dream and never had to suffer the labor of the deck or the engine room. Then the bottom of the industry fell out and wouldn't come back in time to save him.
He found himself on the hunt for a job. He was in line with men who had suffered for 35 years on the deck and in the engine room. They would be lucky and suffer for a few more years, for a few more dollars. He would suffer rejection. They said they needed experienced hands, not boat drivers. He said he could catch up. But there was no fast track to take him to the others.
Now, on his concrete bunk, blanketed in a piece of old canvas tarp, he slept under the stars. When his mind wasn't numb from the cold and the fear, he pondered his brilliant career.
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