Seven years had passed, and once more the Thanksgivingtide was in Mapleton.

We were sailing swiftly along on a calm and glassy sea, past beautiful headlands and bits of scenery clothed with vivid and luxuriant green down to the water's edge; past glistening coral islands, on whose outer edges pale green billows broke on the white sandy beaches, boiling and seething as they dashed against a row of ugly nigger heads, as the rocks were called, dotted here and there.

I'm.... he pauses, glancing over to Frank, then to me again, I'm what they call a transgender admirer, or transfan. I'm attracted to transgender people, he concedes.

That douchebag ruined my shrimp cocktail.