The skiff waited below the pier as the last light settled over Cape Porpoise. Beyond the harbor, lobster boats rested at their moorings, ready for another tide. The village had grown quiet. The bait sheds were closed. The gulls had little left to argue about.

The boat wore its scars without complaint. Salt, sun, and hard seasons had stripped away the paint but not its purpose.

Tomorrow, before dawn, it would leave the harbor again. In the fishing village of Cape Porpoise, that is how summer has always begun.

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