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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 29-May 15:21:44 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 133951
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Gavan O
[time] => 2007-04-30 08:20:15
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => Sven spoke. “ You know what you’ll be doing here on out, Mick? You’ll be serving under Cookie, ship’s cook. You’ll be fetching and scraping for him. You’ll be sloping over the side, and it’ll be good if you remember not to throw the slops into the wind. You’ll get back a face full if you do.” The little Irishman gave that a thought and cared not at all. “ I’ve done worse and will probably do worse again. Makes no difference to me.” He threw aside the rest of the foul-weather gear he’d been removing and laid his head down on the wooden deck to go to sleep not caring to talk anymore. The two seamen looked at him shaking their head together in wonder. The little blighter sure had what it takes. [comments] => 0 [counter] => 231 [topic] => 31 [informant] => ramfire [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => StoryPoetry )
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