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“That’s the thing about him, he just goes till he can’t go no more.” he said, staring toward the horizon. “As far as the sea foam shows, as long as the Zephyr’s wind blows, out there is where he goes…” he trailed off as he stumbled into memory. I was not quite sure how to take that. What did he mean? Who was he talking about? That’s when I heard that shrill whistle above the waves and looked to see a long tailed white flash wheeling on the breeze. “Ah, that makes sense then.” I thought to myself as I turned and walked back up the pier toward the comfort of land and the safety of a darkened bar. It’s funny how chance meetings work, if you let them. So, in the spirit of unintentional inspiration, won’t you join me now as we stand and make the Bosun Bird.
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