The captain allayed my distress as we anchored. “Here mate. Take a peek.” His binoculars revealed a yacht: dude on bridge reading the Financial Times, goddess below toweling off her curvaceous naked body, nymph in string bikini lolling on stern. Wow.
Christmas, 2022. Where are those girls? Not with Hannah: “Darling, Hannah called, in tears. She totaled her car. Not hurt, but she let her insurance lapse.”
Ah well. Christmas memories.