Brett Miller

When the crop circles first appeared, our town went into a panic. No one knew where they’d come from or what they meant. The circles weren’t even that round. 

Dad told us it was probably just aliens. But I knew how much he hated corn.

The ocean has been hard on my crew and I. Her waves have tossed us from starboard to port to the cooler where we keep all the Fresca and most of our money.

It’s been 30 days since we last touched shore and waved goodbye to our wives and the tour guide who’d fallen asleep. 

For twenty-nine days, we spent sun-up to sundown telling existential dolphin jokes, but now we realize those had no porpoise.

It’s maddening out here. If only the people on the pier would stop waving. 
 I’ll write more if I can find a bigger vein on Dale.

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