The sailors crowd you, the breaths of their bodies heating the air with the acrid odor of massed violence.

It’s so sudden, the way things change. Strange life, strange days, they’ve found us and tracked us down. Here you were just getting away from things, hoping to take a few days to yourself, maybe meet some folks, see some sights, read a new novel. Not no more, dammit. It’s as though the airs about the ship have taken on an electrical charge, jangling the bones, the teeth, the rivets of the boat herself. The crewmen seethe, channeling violent energies. One presses against you so tightly that you can feel the warmth of his cheeserank breath on your neck.

“Listen,” his voice hisses. “I know who you are!”, and a warm hand slips something hard into your palm.

In the swelter of the scene—the captain’s still-quivering finger, all the heaving bodies—no one hears the voice behind you, no one sees the secret offering.

If you’re not into strangers rubbing against you or crazed captains shouting at you, take a calm breath and say,

“Hey guys, just a chill out a minute, it’s cool, I’ve been here a few days, I’m the new guy, remember me, right? You all seem tense, do some box breathing or something, really put some elbow grease into your breathwork. But honestly I think we’re good here, I’m going to go take a nap. Nice to meet you, Cap. See you all for the nightshift!” And down you go, curling into your hammock. ffs, someone took your novel. Geez. Sailors, man.

Or … if you take the object and discreetly put it down your pants, go here.