The tugboat was in no hurry to get me across the anchorage. It had nothing better to do. Hulks of all sizes and in various states of disrepair had been laid up in the bay; none of them needed to be moved. We left them to sleep, port and starboard, and kept between the remnants of the two lines of buoys that had once marked the fairway. I was standing at the bow, one foot on the railing, looking towards the city rising out of the glimmering sea, small at first, then bigger, then enormous.
I was a fool to return. Then again, after that unfortunate business in Manila, I really needed to lie low for a while. I had learned of the old bridge undergoing repairs and all of a sudden, the Gotomomi docklands, cut-off as they had to be, seemed like the best of places. I would need to find somewhere to stay, of course, but that shouldn't be too difficult.
We'd arrived at the pier now, and the gangway was lowered. A couple of steps, a slight hop, and I was back.
41st place (out of 103) in the 26th Annual Interactive Fiction Competition.
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