The Gar­ment was Occu­pied, the pro­tag­o­nist wres­tles with a cru­cial deci­sion that looms over him after a long night of deep reflec­tion. He is torn between sail­ing south­west to Duluth, where there are famil­iar faces and the pos­si­bil­i­ty of assis­tance, espe­cial­ly from Lark, who has con­nec­tions due to her time spent at the local library. Despite this, he is con­flict­ed by the risks of bring­ing oth­ers into his trou­bles, fear­ing that their involve­ment could expose them to dan­ger because of the prob­lems he’s already tan­gled in. The calm, bright morn­ing sky pro­vides a sense of clar­i­ty and hope, stir­ring his opti­mism for what lies ahead. As he watch­es the ear­ly rays of the sun reflect­ing off the water, the pos­si­bil­i­ty of reach­ing the Slates and reunit­ing with Lark becomes a dis­tant yet pow­er­ful dream. He begins to think back to their shared moments, the sense of safe­ty and hap­pi­ness they once expe­ri­enced, and he feels a renewed sense of pur­pose guid­ing him for­ward.

As he con­tin­ues his jour­ney, the pro­tag­o­nist is guid­ed by years of expe­ri­ence, mak­ing deci­sions instinc­tive­ly, trust­ing the path set before him. To his sur­prise, the voy­age pro­ceeds more smooth­ly than expect­ed, with the waters calm and the jour­ney becom­ing almost med­i­ta­tive. He feels a deep sense of grat­i­tude for his boat, Flower, which has faith­ful­ly car­ried him through tur­bu­lent waters, pro­vid­ing a sense of sta­bil­i­ty in a world that feels uncer­tain. The sur­round­ing scenery, with its qui­et beau­ty, brings up mem­o­ries of Lark, remind­ing him of the shared times they spent togeth­er on the water. The seren­i­ty of the lake con­trasts sharply with the emo­tion­al tur­bu­lence with­in him, and the protagonist’s thoughts often return to Lark. At times, he even believes he can see her face reflect­ed in the waves, only to have the image van­ish as soon as he tries to focus on it, leav­ing him long­ing for her pres­ence.

Lat­er, as night falls, the pro­tag­o­nist anchors near Thun­der Bay, try­ing to dis­tract him­self from his grow­ing hunger by reflect­ing on past strug­gles and the odd rit­u­als of those around him. He plays his bass gui­tar soft­ly, the music offer­ing a brief reprieve from the dark thoughts weigh­ing on him. But this moment of solace is inter­rupt­ed by an unset­tling noise—knocks against the hull of his boat. Ini­tial­ly think­ing it might be the famil­iar sounds of seag­ulls, he is shocked to dis­cov­er a float­ing corpse drift­ing near­by. The sight of the body is both dis­turb­ing and poignant, a stark reminder of mor­tal­i­ty in the vast, unfor­giv­ing expanse of the Great Lakes. It forces him to con­front the real­i­ty of death in his jour­ney, a theme that has crept into his life ever since he left behind the safe­ty of his past.

The life­less fig­ure float­ing by trig­gers a blend of emo­tions in the pro­tag­o­nist. His past encoun­ters with death stir unease, yet there is also a sense of strange curios­i­ty. As he reacts, he doesn’t allow the fear to take over; instead, he push­es the body away, refus­ing to let it dis­rupt his course. The moment rep­re­sents a sym­bol­ic act of dis­tanc­ing him­self from the past, a deci­sion to move for­ward rather than linger on what has already been lost. How­ev­er, despite his ratio­nal efforts to con­tin­ue, the corpse’s pres­ence lingers in his mind, haunt­ing him and pre­vent­ing him from find­ing rest. As the storm sub­sides and dawn breaks, a sense of resolve begins to fill the void left by the unset­tling encounter. The pro­tag­o­nist pre­pares to move on, leav­ing the body behind as he focus­es on what lies ahead—still uncer­tain but deter­mined, know­ing that the road to his future may not be smooth, but it is one he must trav­el.