A crisp overnight sail.
Listening to The Replacements, drinking beer-then-whiskey, "I don't think Morrissey cares about French girls", knitting in the cockpit, stuffing over-layered limbs into sleeping bags and underneath piled high blankets and watching the night progress and move behind and around a lone lit lantern with a kind of enrapture and attentiveness that can only come from being in the warm belly of a boat on a winters night out on the open water.
