Mark liked to collect the people he saw, every night after a visit to Port he would compare notes with his mother on who they’d seen, from whence they came, and how strange they were. A buzzing awoke his attention, not an audible one, but heard none the less. Casting about with wide eyes, assured this would be a strange one, he quickly spotted the rich reds, bright yellows, and blinding whites that had set the square alight. A Man wore them, he strolled with the confidence of a flame, staring lustily at the women and shrinking the men with a hot gaze. With a shout he jumped upon a lamp post and in a ragged, powerful voice proclaimed.

The Ferry Man,
Burns so Bright,
We stretch up towards His Light,
By His Bequeath so we Grow,
By His Feats all will Know,
Imposter is this Man Not,
The Ferry Man!
Burns so Hot!

“A ferry man,” whispered Mark as the Ferry Man walked away. The Ferry Men were here.