At the bottom of Harbor Street: a working marina of fishing boats and pleasure craft, with a gas dock at one end and a public pier at the other, and a hundred and fifty feet of cold blue water in between. A pelican keeps its post on a corner piling with the bored, professional patience of an animal that works here.

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In the flat February light it sits like a postcard, the flagpole clinking in the breeze, the water still. A good place to park facing the sea when you need to make a call no one should overhear.