She stood calmly at the edge of the burnished railing, reapplying lipstick. ‘O cappuccino, my cappuccino’ was the name of the lip color. She balanced herself cautiously on the wide deck; the deck itself balanced and floating in the middle of the Atlantic, sailing blissfully over a thousand years of sunken ships, weapons, pirates, bones and memories of long forgotten battles. The caramel blue water lapped gently at the sides of the huge boat.
The moon watched as a few late night souls moved quickly by on the promenade beneath her deck, a scattering of unintelligible voices and they were gone.
The sea was forever…and they were all alone…drifting forward in the midst of liquid miles…
690 Saint Paul 