Why don't I get a job on a dredger or an oil rig? I'd like to put my blue-grey life on the water in an early morning fog. Or work alone on the ruined harbor. I'll fortify my mornings with red wine and talk with the gulls. I'll refer to every gull I meet as "sweetie." And listen to the radio in the fog. Regional ghosts broadcast from shipwrecks and abandoned lighthouses. I'll drink my wine and eat french onion soup and wonder when I will get to join them.