Good Friday, Good Hiding

Friday. Good Friday, and the captain’s second shanty opened its door under Hay Street Mall this morning. Its only door, I should say. The captain asked for one. He got one. I am a man of my word, mostly.

I built this one roomier than the ship. The captain’s cabin on the galleon has a door so narrow he has to breathe in. Here I left space for a wheelchair to come in and turn about, because a prisoner on wheels deserves a fair go at the treasure the same as anybody. The captain thinks the extra room is for his furniture.

It is a short walk from the ship to the shanty. Some crews do both in a day. I watched one lot come off the galleon at a run, still laughing, and go straight along the corridor to the hut. I may have whistled a bit as they passed. Whistling is not helping. Whistling is a hobby.

The captain is calling it Two Hideouts, One Mall in his log, as if it were his plan. It was my plan. I let him have it. A man with a log needs something to write.

Hot cross bun for lunch. The parrot had the cross.