They went below to shouts and cheers from the six or so people crammed into the rather inhospitable accommodations of a racing J boat. Sailors didn’t care, particularly racing sailors. If they even had a berth to lay in was a bonus. Usually they were cold and wet sleeping on top of sails or crammed against a bulkhead. Sleep was something that was pointless to complain about because during a distance race you were going to get little.
“Here’s to Derek! And—Who is your sexy friend again?” someone said Nina, “NINA!” They all cheered his drunken effort. They were handed a shot of tequila in a small paper cup and slammed it back and chased it with one of the many limes from a plate on the make shift table.
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