(This story is actually the first of the cycle, preceding other published stories.)

The trip from the bus was short. This morning she’d gotten off the ship at the Port of Newark. A walk, a bus to Newark, then Greyhound to New York. An hour got her something American to eat (she’d learned to like Filipino food, but man, that first hot dog…), then to the next bus, to Boston. She walked to Downtown Crossing, then caught the Orange Line to Haymarket, then another bus to where she’d lived. She’d had enough money to afford the trip.

The pay for a dockhand had been okay, especially since it was mostly off the books, and the captain would be annoyed at her desertion, but also pleased to have “{tooltip}Lilamata{end-text}Purple-Eyes{end-tooltip}” (as he’d called her) off his ship, getting rid of the woman and the bad luck superstitious sailors thought women brought on board. Click to continue reading.