All your seasick sailors, they are rowing home.
All your reindeer armies, are all going home.

No deer live in the forest, just malnourished donkeys surviving off hamburger wrappers and potato chips discarded by overweight tourists. This boy insisted on being photographed. Perhaps he was longing to be remembered like a true explorer, immortalized and framed over some dusty mantle. Packing two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, a pair of broken binoculars and a pocket atlas of North America, he came prepared. Only later did I realize I never got a chance to ask the young sailor his name.