It’s the simplest of all things: I should’ve unfastened the rope from the bollard on the edge of the wharf.
Instead, Eden-the-dumbass has torn a hole in the back of a boat trying to race away while the thing’s tied up. I’m panicked, okay. Nervous, terrified, edgy. I thought being in a biodome was bad luck. Then I realised boys were bad luck. Now I’ve realised it’s the country, f**k, the whole continent. Safer at sea, me and my girl. If even Mumshine means danger, then nobody’s safe. Screw this country. Screw being on land. Nothing but disappointment.
It’s a tiny fishing boat, this one, with a covered control panel and the keys in the ignition. A jetboat for fishing jocks with ten rods and racks of fishing gear and coiled nylon. It has an outboard motor which screams and bleeds diesel fum
