Tank
TankTank had sailed on the Joseph L. Block, a Great Lakes freighter, for more than 30 years. He was short, overweight, bald, and dirty. Especially dirty. He had this thing about water. He didn’t mind sailing on it from March through the end of the season in mid-January, but the thought of standing underneath a shower or sitting in a tub made him cringe. Other than being dirty, Tank had no faults. He was a good Christian from Trenary, a tiny town in Michigan’s Western Upper Peninsula famous for its Finnish cinnamon dunking toast. He didn’t drink hard liquor, smoke pot, sniff cocaine, stick needles in his veins, or chase women. He had no wife or children that he knew of, no close friends, no family other than his elderly mother, and no lawyers chasing him. But Tank did have two things
