The wreck of the Jessica W.

Or: Why Can't There Be More Bridges Over Troubled Water

I snapped this sailboat when I was still able to stand and point a phone.

“You’re downwind,” the beefy guy said, but he was hard to hear over the engines and the wind.

He motioned to his right, where about 30 feet away a teenage boy in a green hoodie leaned over the railing.

“He’s going to be sick, and you’re downwind,” the man said, and one glimpse was all we needed to grab our backpacks and skedaddle around the corner, where we were soon joined by people who’d been closer to the poor guy, and who most likely wished they’d chosen different seats.