Seabound

I don't know how to love. It starts there. That's a bad beginning. Let me begin again. Call me Ishmael. I don't know how to love, and what at all is there for a man of such prejudice, lacking in heart and with little else to do, and in any case in search of adventure, except to set sail on the seven seas, there to meet his maker, face to airbrushed face. "Sweet lord is there any sense to it all?". I got as far as the port. It began to rain. I grumbled something, picked up my bag, and returned home. I hated the sea.