Two slips dunked up and down in the harborwater. I hadn't touched either of them. Dark, greenish, black-and-blue water - poisoned by billions of journeys over the top - foamed white as my clipper cut through. Tiny pink capsules of seawater scattered at wake's edge. Once fully absorbed, there are brief periods of hypomanic calm. Warm sunbeams reflected earnestly off the harbor surface. The shimmering waves weren't close to as majestic as the battery skyline, which boasted a mosaic of horizon-stamped windows framed by dull limestone and oxidized copper. From my vantage I gazed down the barrel of Manhattan and eastdrifted. My socks were a little damp so I took them off - feet seeking fuzzy shelter.
Although man has relentlessly girded this landscape, carving deep into the ground to thrust higher into the sky, the encasing harbor remains a furious showcase of nature. My sail dug in, windwhipped to tears but stubbornly-driven and earnest - an authenticity at odds with the sunbeams, for my sail travels singly at sea. We don't rely on Friends.
Windwhipped to frenzy, I had no tac[t]. My spirit sunk low, faceplanting the deck. I thought of your dog face and wholly derivative life. You're right! There is cause for alarm!
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