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Desiree rowed and rowed. The repetitive motion began to lull her a sleep happening,
but the glitchy sounds of the oars
occasional squeakings of metal grating on metal, startled and broke the patterns.
The sound of the oars sploosh, if she misgauged
the depth of a stroke, became the new entertainment.
She caught the sound of men singing, about twenty deep swells away.
Soon she was able to see their craft.
"It's round!" she exclaimed.
"I wonder if they might have some gloves, my hands are sore."
As the round tub-like craft came closer, she noticed the occupants were
busy with their back-brushes.
Desiree stood up in the dinghy. She waved her toothbrush wildly, hoping they would take notice.
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