The steady, incessant thrum of a low-torque diesel engine created a constant vibration throughout the small ship as it plodded westward, rolling and pitching gently on the Atlantic Ocean swell. In the wheelhouse, with eyes half-closed and arms folded across his chest, a sole figure idly watched the compass and the autopilot. Below, in the galley area, two men sat at a coffee-stained Formica table.
- From False Assurances by Christopher Rosow
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