Another large wave hit and the boat tilted. The sea closed in on the starboard side as if it was going to wash through the crowded room. Someone stumbled out of the bathroom and glumly sat down. The BigGuy's head dropped into his hands and he
resumed his examination of the swirling vomit around his shoes. No wonder he's seasick, Nuco thought, the closeness of the sea and the smell of diesel fuel in this part of the boat were nauseating.
Shit the deck
Fighting the urge to grow sick himself, Nuco glanced toward Capn, who still lay on his back. As he watched, a sick grimace forced itself onto his mate's face, as if Moby Dick had suddenly sounded; except the sounding was occurring in his belly. The nauseous New Yorker quickly unbuckled his pants and, in a state of complete misery, yanked his trousers to his knees and rid himself of the nemesis amidst the rope and propane tanks.
Nuco remembered how on the dock in La Ceiba the professional soccer player had described the misery of seasickness. He hadn't exaggerated.
"Yaaooooooo!" drifted a howl from the top deck. Had Medio seen land, or was he still just enjoying the trip?
Next issue, barracuda-bullied, and maricon-scammed.