Great. Just great. First goddamn week of business. Antfarm crouched by the water’s edge and stared out at the line of half-submerged logs bobbing along the river towards Boomtown and out towards the ports and docks of Shanghai. Somewhere out there one of these logs – his logs – had struck a boat. Three people had died. The harbour-master was coming out to investigate. This could shut him down. Antfarm shifted round and looked down at the remains of the log raft he’d chained together only the day before. The chains he’d used were new, strong. The shackle was bolted tightly. The weather overnight had been mild, the river calm. Nothing could have slipped out, nothing could have come loose. He turned a U-shaped piece of steel over in his hands, rubbing his thumb over the sharp, crimped ends. Bolt-cutters.
First goddamn week of business.
Links to other blogs and stories:
1) This post follows Alana’s on the Steelhead Ning here.