S. - Ship of Theseus - Pg 267

 He pauses along the starboard rail, sees nothing but the broad undulations of waves and the streaked sky. He closes his eyes, feels the breeze washing over his face. He smells salt and varnish and damp canvas, as well as a note of smoke that seems to have taken up permanent residence in his sinuses. He listens to the slaps of the ship pitching over the water, to the flutters and dives of the crew's whistles, to the groaning wood, to the thwacks of sail-edges and stays. After a time, he notices more distant sounds: a rumbly drone wrapped in the fricative static of an ill-tuned wireless. Perhaps, he thinks, this is the sound of time accelerating.