On the run, my only escape is a big inviting ship.

I thought it was a cruise line, but now it looks really far from it.

I look, I hide, I am under a sheet.

Out of nowhere, the sounds of boots stepping like a beat.

I am curious, so I take a peek.

Loads of crates with rattling sounds and lots of creaks.

What must these crates hold?

I must know.

Soon, I will find out, and soon, I'll go.

I was a stowaway on a cruise ship.

The passengers only came out of their cabins at night, written by, with a bite.

I was on the run.

I don't want to say why, because I don't want to incriminate myself, though if anyone

from the authorities heard this, I get most likely in a repli of mental disorder.

No sane person would surely claim to have experienced what I did.

I've been sleeping rough down by the docks, which was not as bad as it sounds.

I'd found the sheltered place.

They covered a lock-up bay for bicycles that no one seemed to use.

I had a suitable sleeping bag and a sad face that worked wonders for getting changed

from passing strangers.

Everything was all good, until I noticed I was being eyeballed by the occupants of a passing

patrol car.

...