Saturday

I can't stop thinking of a girl I saw in New York, last time we were in port. She was stunning, although I can't help but think her flame-like hair had been dyed. She was a black girl, her skin like milk chocolate. I noted a ring on her finger, that looked a lot like mine. I would have gone to speak to her, but my father called. Now we are in a port to the far reaches of the arctic. Brrr!