The boat rocked gently back and forth. She kept her eye on the horizon, on the thin strip of land just barely visible there, but it didn’t seem to help at all. Eventually she couldn’t help it, she leaned over the railing and threw up.
“Not feeling any better?”
“I told you: I don’t like boats.”
“That all it is?”
The guy from the gas station said, “She’s fine. She’s not sick. Look at her, man.”
“All right, all right, I’m just asking.”
“I appreciate your concern that I’m turning into a zombie, but could somebody hold my hair? Please.”