It's the only time I ever did anything just for money. Looking at the four-inch scar on my neck brings smells of sockeye salmon and Alaskan crab. Twenty-three years is a long time but memories of three months on a Kodiak seiner get conjured.
My seventeen-year-old daughter talks about what she wants to do in college that will be help her "get rich" as a soon as possible. I was only three-years older when I thought the same. But three dead crew members, a brutal summer, and this damn scar changed my mind. I should tell her the story.
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