[Something about the sea]

You get the feeling this place isn't at its busiest yet. Like ants in formation carrying crumbs of bread, you see men with heavy boxes angled on their shoulders, hauling crates toward one of the loftier stalls.

Eventually, two girls join the line and immediately catch your eye. Lean, sweat-slick and tanned, their faces a blend of sharp lines and brazen confidence. They might have been assigned some of the lighter loads, but from what you see, it shouldn't be by much. And the real kicker?... They're topless, wearing just a strip of cloth wrapped tight around their chests as if they've lost a bet.

Their skin is inked in soot. Anchors and skulls. Numbers. Hearts pierced by arrows... Each step they take leaves a faint trail of fish and sea salt behind. What else could they be but sailors, parading their lives on their skin?

A short while later, the girls drop their boxes and grin a boyish smile, one of them swiping her forehead once with her arm.

"Careful with that," a young man cautions, more like a reminder than a scolding.

"'een as careful ca be," one girl says, thumping her chest. "Any more careful and we'd be here 'til next tide."

The girls leave before the man has a chance to respond, then return to drop another box just as carelessly as the first. Swiftly, they move back and forth multiple times. By the fifth run, they're already leaning on the crates like they built the stall themselves...

It's an unusual sight... You've known killers who move with less confidence. Maybe this is what freedom looks like, what you need now... Salt on the skin, sweat in the eyes, and water as far as the eye can see.