A quick fox gallops across the road as I go home. I'm thinking about foxy foxes. The Boy snuck a shot of The Sneaky Arctic Fox up in Spitzbergen. It was quite the scoop. I'm thinking about the others over the years. Flew off of the photo boards and we couldn't keep up with the reprints. Andrew's Arctic Fox. Arti's Panama Pelican on a lock perched proud. Whatshisname Sam. He Papped the Pope a heaving day in Rome. Out of focus and out of range but we near wore the neg out satisfying demand. Dolphins off the port side. We pull some from the archives and fib. A cantankerous gentleman contests the variety and there is an awkward incident in the gallery.
We came to the rescue of the crew from a sinking cargo ship. Down she went off our starboard most distressing. Poor old dame kicked her heels in the air for one last dance pointed her pretty nose at the sea bed. And dove, gone. The Polish crew forlorn bobabout in an orangebucket and the Pakistani Seamen In Their Itchy Sweaters haul them aboard to blankets stretchers and broth. Our Pasajeros care not for the drama of desperate vessels or the machinations of rescue. But Hinchey snaps the doctor on deck running wheeling an embarrassed sailor. We sell hundreds. The pasajeros want human indignity and the sailors just want hot soup.
All at sea with nothing to do a nit-picky posse rally a debate. There's talk of insisting we donate proceeds to charity. But we soon reach Piraeus and it's forgotten in the scramble for duty-free.
The Zakinthos Rope sold only three. But all to one lady who was greatly admiring which pleased the person who took it. I didn't take it. But I taught the man who did how to use my camera.