When I first set sail 14 years ago I was glassy-eyed and full of wanderlust, yet I had no clue how deep and wide the sea really was. As I careened from port to port I acquired and traded various techniques but grew tired and weary from the scurvy and monkey pox flareups. Finally, after 11 years aimlessly adrift an old friend waved me back into a familiar harbor and I instantly realized that my home was there all along. My old shack was just as I had left it, and still stashed beneath the floorboards were heaping mounds of dichroic gold, intricate line-work, and 10 tons o' cane.
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