The one encouraging dream I had was in 1994, when I wrote a magazine article about the Andrea Gail. Dock workers who were walking up and down the gangplank carried boxes like an army of ants.
I'm not the one you have to worry about; Tortee's in charge, Viktor said uncomfortably. By daylight it looked larger than it had seemed in the night, a short-legged, fleshy, well-built creature that weighed at least as much as he did.