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<blockquote data-quote="The Shaman" data-source="post: 2166461" data-attributes="member: 26473">Brandon wanders idly about the passenger compartment. Few of the passengers take notice of him, their faces those of tired commuters heading home at the end of a long week with the prospect of a wet and dreary weekend ahead.Standing near a column, Brandon can overhear the conversation between the two Spanish-speakers. Both are on the maintenance staff of someplace called the Hotel de Haro – Saturday morning marks the beginning of their work week, and the men are commiserating over their impending &quot;Monday.”After nearly an hour and a half, the ferry slows as it enters Friday Harbor. The lights of the small town twinkle in the rainy darkness as the Sealth comes to a stop at Cannery Landing. You grab your bags and debark the ferry. Near the top of the gangway stands a tall man wearing a dark green hooded Gore-Tex jacket over a charcoal business suit; he holds a small flashlight and a waterlogged cardboard sign that reads “D. SLOCUM” in block letters.When you approach he smiles and introduces himself. “Good evening, I’m Don Slocum. We’re in the SUV over there.” He points toward a red Range Rover parked at the curb with hazard lights flashing.After your bags are loaded and everyone is in the car, the attorney wheels the Range Rover through the town. “It’s about twenty minutes to our destination, on the other side of the island,” he says as he drives through the darkness beyond Friday Harbor. The windshield wipers can barely keep up with the pouring rain. “I’m sure you have a number of questions, but it would be best if you can hold onto them until we arrive. Perhaps you could introduce yourselves in the meantime?”</blockquote>

[QUOTE="The Shaman, post: 2166461, member: 26473"] Brandon wanders idly about the passenger compartment. Few of the passengers take notice of him, their faces those of tired commuters heading home at the end of a long week with the prospect of a wet and dreary weekend ahead. Standing near a column, Brandon can overhear the conversation between the two Spanish-speakers. Both are on the maintenance staff of someplace called the Hotel de Haro – Saturday morning marks the beginning of their work week, and the men are commiserating over their impending "Monday.” After nearly an hour and a half, the ferry slows as it enters Friday Harbor. The lights of the small town twinkle in the rainy darkness as the [i]Sealth[/i] comes to a stop at Cannery Landing. You grab your bags and debark the ferry. Near the top of the gangway stands a tall man wearing a dark green hooded Gore-Tex jacket over a charcoal business suit; he holds a small flashlight and a waterlogged cardboard sign that reads “D. SLOCUM” in block letters. When you approach he smiles and introduces himself. [color=teal]“Good evening, I’m Don Slocum. We’re in the SUV over there.”[/color] He points toward a red Range Rover parked at the curb with hazard lights flashing. After your bags are loaded and everyone is in the car, the attorney wheels the Range Rover through the town. [color=teal]“It’s about twenty minutes to our destination, on the other side of the island,”[/color] he says as he drives through the darkness beyond Friday Harbor. The windshield wipers can barely keep up with the pouring rain. [color=teal]“I’m sure you have a number of questions, but it would be best if you can hold onto them until we arrive. Perhaps you could introduce yourselves in the meantime?”[/color] [/QUOTE]

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