The grey clouds swarmed like vultures overhead, pounding their ears with the boom of thunder as the small fishing boat swung itself over each gnashing wave.
As he was struggling to see the large serrated knife in his hand, Jerry began blinking rapidly, unsure whether it was the rain or his own tears clouding his vision.
“Fishing is in our blood, son,” he wailed above the storm, “I just can’t let you live as a…vegan.”
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