The boat and the octopus (Part I)

The whistling encroached upon my breakfast table slowly at first. Yet I sat, spoon in hand, tending to swirls of chaos in a splash of coffee. With the weight of its sound arriving ever faster – a demand to be heard -- I held out for the slightest hope that it was all within the borders of my skull. But then it crashed my southern wall and I knew. Sea water, tentacles and all.