No Man Is an Island
Greg slowly twisted his hand, slowing the outboard motor behind him to a stop. The vibrations, which had been traveling up his arm and shaking his poor middle aged body for the past half hour, eased as the ship began to coast towards the rocky shore. Ship. Really, that was a grandiose term for the "True Blue". It barely rated being called a boat. Ten or twelve feet long (he'd never bothered to measure it), the True Blue was just an old aluminum rowboat with an outboard motor. His father had...