Star Platinum

He sits on the edge of the pier, one leg dangling over the water, the other bent at the knee, a tattered notebook resting on it. He counts out loud, quietly, almost whispering:

"...forty-seven... forty-eight..."

His right hand moves confidently across the page, holding a thin pen. Lines appear on the paper - neat, precise, as if drawn with a compass, and all this - without a single glance down. He does not even blink. Watches the silver shadows slide between the stones in the water.

"...fifty."

He does not turn, but it is as if he knows you are there. A barely noticeable movement of the shoulders. The page fills with something that could be a diagram, a drawing, or maybe - thoughts.

"...another one. That one's tail is torn." His voice is deep, but even. No surprise, no irritation.

He turns the page, still not looking. The handwriting is precise. The lines are perfectly straight.

"...you've been standing for a long time. Sit down if you want."