Don Raul Comes In A Hydroplane

On the vast bluish-green Pasifika sea, a gleaming white hydroplane vroomed off at three hundred miles per hour.

Raging speed was the religion of a clamouring mind, a mind that longed to conquer time and space and everything in between. In the high noon glare the submarine-shaped Whitebird W7 raised a spectacular seawater wall in its trail.

Under the boat’s domed glass cockpit sat Don Raul, squinting even behind his shades. Flushed with excitement in a white polymer safari suit and white sneakers...