From The Bottom Of The Aqaurium
Three days chill. Ocean cold in the folds of your clothes and then biblical downpour. Noah at the lumber supply store examines the diagrams that he scribbled on a cocktail napkin the night before.

"Cubits," he mutters, looking about. Feet. Inches. "What in the hell is a cubit?"

Three days chill. Life in slow mo. Dreaming of scuba gear and plastic underwater castles.