Form follows function
I love tug boats. Beasts of things under the water too when you see them out of it. Like icebergs, big pelican-billed icebergs. They churn through the water throwing up a fabulous wake. After I had portholes I'd often wake to a thump, a powerful diesel roar and a pair of oil-skin boots. The Push Here was painted on the other side of my exterior bulkhead. I didn't mind a bit. The first time I pulled into New York the Margaret Moran hauled us up the Hudson. The Hudson tugs are named after gangsters molls. At least that's what's in my head though I don't know why.