Float (Joeann Hart) by Joeann Hart

Author:Joeann Hart
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: LIterature, Seagulls, New England, Oceans, Satire, Comedy, Maine, General Fiction
ISBN: 9781618220202
Publisher: Ashland Creek Press
Published: 2012-12-22T22:00:00+00:00

~

After dinner, of which Duncan had eaten not much more than the double whiting, they walked down the street to Ten Bells and put their whole hearts into drinking. Ten Bells was the seediest bar in a town belly-deep in seedy bars. Three stained and threadbare pool tables provided entertainment, hard-boiled eggs from a jar of cloudy liquid gave sustenance, and the price-per-shot of liquor was written in Magic Marker on each bottle of booze on the shelves. They sold no wine, at any price. In the back room were two old-school pinball machines and a glass tank of lobsters, where for five dollars patrons got a chance at catching one with a small crane, like an arcade game. Ten Bells’ doors opened at 5:30 a.m. so that dock workers could get a quick snort before work, or to offer amber consolation if there was none. In the past, and perhaps even into the present, the bar was known as a place where captains, short of men for some dangerous journey or another, would troll for crew, make them paralytic with drink, then carry them on board on stretchers and lay them out like corpses in the hold. And that was exactly how Duncan felt the next morning.

“Sassafras,” he croaked without opening his eyes. Thanks to several more oyster shooters after dinner, Duncan had already reached his waterline by the time they left Slocum’s apartment, then he took more on board at Ten Bells. Bottom-shelf bourbon, $3.05 a shot. He’d ended up, somehow, fully clothed on the sofa in his office and woke to the sound of a rally outside his window. Annuncia’s basso profundo blared through a loudspeaker. “A clean sea is a profitable sea!” she shouted. It was 10 a.m.

He curled tighter into the ball he was already in and pulled his windbreaker over his head. He’d forgotten that he’d told her she could launch her Boat Garbage Project from Seacrest’s loading dock today, but it was coming back to him loud and clear now. He had assumed she meant at the end of the workday, but of course, she would want to do it early enough to catch that evening’s news cycle.

The crowd started to chant, and the steady noise bore through his eardrums like sea worms. “Bring the garbage back to shore! Bring the garbage back to shore!”

Annuncia quieted them down and continued speaking. “We complain about the crap from outfall pipes and pollution on our fish, and then we throw our own garbage overboard. What’s up with that?”

The crowd emitted a low boo, and he could hear Wade’s voice leading the pack. Even though Annuncia was at the microphone, this project was really his baby. On Earth Day that spring, instead of cleaning beaches with the other volunteers, Wade decided to motor from boat to boat asking for garbage. When they saw how successful he’d been, a group of kids started making the rounds every weekend in a pedal-driven barge built from plastic water bottles,

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