The Spirits of Greenport

The ‘citiots’ are coming. Having spotted a herd of fanny packs on the horizon, I sent a fistful of golden chocolate doubloons raining down on the throng of incoming tourists. Beside me, my classmate, Dory—named, ironically enough, after the fishing boat—bellowed “Ahoy, matey!” in a quasi-pirate accent. Adjusting the feathers on my skull-and-crossbones cap, I…