There he sits.

In that same corner seat every night.

With barely the flicker of a dying candle flame.

Old Salt.

In the shadows, you are shielded from the weariness of the sea world.

And it shows upon his grizzled face.

 

Whenever he speaks, you should listen, and the more hushed the tones, the graver the message.

For he has suffered greatly the waves and whims of the sea and destiny.

And she is a cruel mistress.

He's seen Elijah rope and ride the fearsome jumbo shrimp, wrestled free from the briny deep.

And he's the only other soul who lives to tell of the sunken grotto of succulent oysters.

 

Or maybe that's just the whisky talking.

Either way, it pays to listen when Old Salt speaks, for in this dark corner of the Pilot House, the mysteries of the seas are revealed to those ready to hear.