The next day I was strolling around the harbor, while my thoughts were drifting to what had happened the day before. With no particular reason or goal –or maybe that was just what I liked to tell myself. There he was. On his ship. He gestured me to come aboard. I comply. My feet were already moving before my head made the decision. He made me the same offer as the day before. But this time all sober and full of apologies. 'Come work for me. I will teach you about life.' He would teach me about life… we shook hands to seal the deal.

Act first, think later. As always. This was just another one of Viaggiatore's impulsive decisions. The boy who followed his fantasy and, more than once, got swallowed by it. For me, having no fantasy always equaled having no direction. I had to follow it. No friend, none of them all, could understand this about me. I was never sure if I should´ve taken the effort to explain this feeling to them. To prove that it´s right. My knapsack was half empty, but still fuller than ever. Filled with an amazing amount of confidence I threw the sack over my shoulder as I quietly walked down the small stairs of my house. There I felt my heart skip a beat. My parents were up. I could hear them going about in the living room. As fast as I could I tiptoed over the last two steps and headed for the door before they could see me.

The alleys leading to the harbor were cold, misty and very uninviting at this hour. The streetlights were still smoldering in the night. No one could find me here. As I approached the harbor I could see it was filled with life. My life. There, above the mist, he stood proudly on the bow of his ship. Cergej Breshknov. He shouted to me. 'Viaggiatore! Get your ass onboard! NOW!'. I'm late, he yelled in my ear. He downed two mouthfuls of rum and handed me the bottle. 'Here', he said, 'Drink! You'll need it'. I took two little sips and earned myself a push in my back towards the first mast. His face looked down on me, his finger pointing up. Ok. Here we go. As soon as the hawsers were cast off and the sails had been hoisted, the ship started moving and squeaking and then…. We sailed away.

The great ocean, once so majestic to me, turned out to be not much to my liking. The arrogant Cergej Breshknov was nothing more than a disrespected drunk, who earned his title as captain only by putting in vast amounts of time and effort in keeping his men from mutiny. The days of storm though.. those days were indeed majestic. But on the many days without even a sigh of wind, drifting on this endless ocean, I preferred to spend my time below deck, in the cargo hold. I started to carve the days and months into the ship´s woodwork. Slowly these words turned into the bizarre faces of my fellow crewmen, followed by ships, birds, poems… anything to express myself. Read on...