|Neb at the wheel, while Smith and Rigby look back at the honker wave pushing us along.|
In the galley I meanwhile fight my own private war with Big Dies', trying to keep her going when she badly needs cleaning and when every fifteen minutes a gust comes down the smokestack and threatens to put her out (and indeed several have). If only my job were StoveTender Extraordinaire. But it's not. It's cook. And I've got a dinner to get on.