We havent a clue as to what we should do….
Easy buttons and neon arrows be damned. We are walking blind. Sailing amiss. Destination unknown but away from the treacherous isle of doom that nearly wrecked us upon its vicious shore. We know no better plan so this is how weve cast our sails. Progress has been limited.
Its been a keel-hauled kind of summer -the rum (and bourbon) drinking pirate twins torn To and fro, tween port and starboard, enduring long periods submerged beneath choppy dark water. Now, at summers close, We are weary for rescue.
“None shall come. Its up to us now.” -om
“It always been,” -odie.
He grabs a bottle of rum, takes a swig, and forces it into my hand. “Here. Youre going to need this for the journey. And youll have to share…the bourbons already gone.”
Good night. And may clear skies and strong sails provide you and I with what we both needeth most in these precious next hours and days
O and om. Lifevests at the ready.