Natalie Keflavik Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Now, ‘Whore’, she’s a beaut, but temperamental, arrgh! Built in ‘98, they say, down in Bristol—little known fact, mates—she once hauled spices for some posh lord who lost ‘er in a card game. Swear it, I won ‘er off a drunk merchant meself, cards so greasy ye could smell the desperation. Made me happy as a clam, that did—‘til she sprang a leak mid-sea! Bloody hell, I was ragin’, yellin’ “I’m a pirate, not a carpenter!” Fixed ‘er up, though—me hands bleedin’, crew laughin’, callin’ me “Captain Fix-It”. Savvy?

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After that, I decided to stroll down to the harbor. The smell of the sea was insane. I could almost taste the salt in the air. And then I saw this fisherman, right? He was hauling in his nets, and I thought, “Dude, that’s some serious dedication.” I mean, who wakes up at the crack of dawn to catch fish? Not me, that’s for sure.

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