Something area x like about this in a very inorganic way!

the scent of brine and decay, as if the ocean itself whispers a summons I cannot ignore.

There is a sickness in the landlocked places, an infestation of malaise that spreads like damp mold in the corners of a mind. The streets suffocate with …

I think you get the idea.

and mine has grown thin, frayed, almost translucent in the cold light of the city.

Whenever the depths within me begin to stir—restless, abyssal—I feel the pull of the water. An undertow in my blood. I go to sea not as others do, for profit or purpose, but as a man compelled to follow the scent of