"That's the way that it is." His beard blows in the salty wind.
The young man squeezes the netting knots in his hand. "Yeah, but that blows! It shouldn't be like that! We shouldn't be be able to hoist the oysters!" he voices. He throws down the net.
"Tough. That's how it is. Do you want to just save the world?"
"What?"
"Yeah? You want a utopia where shit doesn't happen?"
"It just doesn't feel right to employ the oyster hoister near adjoining groynes!" He points to the nearby beach structure, buoy.
The tanned fisherman sucks his pipe with sour lips. "Ain't no choices when our boys is foisted to hoist moist oysters, of coise."
"Even when they're that moist?!"
"YES!"
"It needs to change!"
"Oh phooey. That's the way the world works, son."
The young man turns around and grapples.
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